


Pray For Me

by Amazonia_8



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel, Blow Jobs, Bobby's Panic Room, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasizing, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, My First Fanfic, Smut, Spells & Enchantments, Switching, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amazonia_8/pseuds/Amazonia_8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean starts to mess around with the way he calls Castiel, he accidentally crosses a line he didn't know existed. Probably should have payed attention when the angel explained how prayer worked. An innocent attempt to cover for his human friend sees Castiel inadvertently dragging the brothers into a plot by a faction of angels to cover an old secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Stumbled on Destiel fic not that long ago and boy did I ever fall down that rabbit hole. First time fanfic so I welcome any helpful criticism! This is also complete but not sure yet how that shakes out in chapters just yet.

If put to the question, he would never be able to pinpoint exactly when he’d decided to start playing the game.  Just that, with Sam and Bobby making him the de facto angel summoner, Dean found he got a kick out of discovering the different ways he could put in a call to Castiel.  The angel would appear now with almost perfect consistency no matter what warped approximation of a prayer Dean could throw at the heavens.  He’d used increasingly vulgar language, tried out impersonations of the guys, even sang a few and then tried to make Cas guess the song when he showed.  It was great fun, even if the most it got him were eye rolls in stereo from the group. Cas didn’t _seem_ to have any real issues with his methods, so of course Dean had to find that line in the sand.  Praying in Spanish in the style of a telenovela had worked, but coming up with the translation had been too much effort to repeat.  A recording of his voice played at full volume, while he hid in the other room, had not, so he guessed it had to come from him directly. 

His ‘brilliant’ idea came after a few too many beers and an argument with Sam during a screening of _Carrie_ at Bobby’s house.

“What? I’m just saying she’s like your perfect package!  All sweet and doe eyed one minute then throwing shitty teenagers around with her demon powers the next!  You’re telling me you wouldn’t want to hit that?”  He was very pleased to see the last piece of popcorn he’d thrown at his brother had stuck in his hair without him noticing.  They’d pretty much gotten to neutral ground when it came to Sam’s slip up, as Dean liked to call it, with Ruby.  The anger was gone, but that didn’t mean Dean was going to let him live it down any time soon.

“Dude, look at her, she’s covered in blood walking around with crazy eyes.”  The next piece of popcorn knocked the first one out, maybe a shotgun spray would be better.

“ _Wet tshirt man_! And don’t knock crazy eyed chicks, they get very creative in the sack. Besides, you don’t think it would be hot having her read your mind in bed?” Sam just gave him the exasperated professor look.

“She’s not psychic Dean, she’s got telekinesis.”

“Great, then she can lift your gigantor body and rock you gently in her arms like a baby.” They bickered back and forth for a bit before slipping into comfortable silence. Bobby joined them a short while later and Dean let his thoughts drift on the haze of his buzz.  This was nice, being home, the closest thing to home he’d ever gotten.  So what felt off? He looked down at his lap, then at Sam and Bobby as if counting the bodies. What was Cas doing right now?  Probably more angel office politics, would be nice to see him sometime though, it’d been a while. But the movie was almost over and they would all be headed to bed soon anyway. Next time.

It was the next time, coupled with a pissed off Sissy Spacek that gave him the idea.  What if he only thought it, his prayer? People prayed that way, right?  Why the hell hadn’t he ever thought of that before? He wondered about it for a time before he considered trying it, fully aware of how many times he’d demanded the angel to stay out of his head. 

But maybe prayers got a pass somehow, Cas had tried once to explain the nuance of angelic communication but it had all sounded like sciencey gibberish so Dean had tuned it out.  Mostly though, Dean wanted to see if it would be possible to talk to Cas with his mind.  That would be pretty badass.  The curiosity nagged at him for days until he was finally given a chance to test it.  Bobby was making the boys earn their keep helping him organize the random bits of parchment, disjointed sheets with scraps of lore into something of an organized system.  Twice they’d come across something that looked Enochian, but needed an expert to be sure.

Since a call was already on the table and he thought the guys wouldn’t notice, Dean let the words trail through his brain first to see if Cas would show before the silence in the room demanded he repeat them out loud.  It didn’t seem to work outright, both times the angel _may_ have appeared a bit sooner, though he never once indicated if Dean’s thoughts had been an influence.  So for a time, Dean forgot all about it.

*

Since the Apocalypse that was not to be, things had returned to just left of normal. The literal Deus ex machina had reached down and restored Castiel, had resurrected Bobby, had yanked Sam out of the pit intact and, as Cas had confirmed later, returned Adam to his Heaven.  Things were quiet for a time, the roaches scattering when the lights flipped on, and even though Heaven and Hell were in a tizzy over the perceived return of God, no one had seen hide nor hair of him since that day.  It was running Cas ragged to try and create some new kind of order in the vacuum left since Michael’s dive.  Maybe it hadn’t been God after all, some wondered, maybe the whole entire workup to the Apocalypse had been nothing but a façade to cover up a power play against Heaven’s reigning guard.  But by whom?  The theories and accusations were getting gradually more pitched and it was all Castiel could do to hold off what was looking increasingly like civil war.

He looked more harried each time Dean saw him, distracted, overworked. But he still showed up to help the brothers out when they needed him. To that end Dean thought it might be nice to check in for something other than a job, give the guy a night off.  With the lull in things that go bump in the night, the hunters found it was the perfect time to take stock, replenish for the next disaster where the world needed them to yank it back from the ledge.  So Sam and Bobby had left for a few days on a hunter’s grocery run, supplies of salt and silver, lamb’s blood and ammo running dangerously low at the moment. Dean, left to work on his baby and man the phones that didn’t ring, was bored. It was the perfect situation in which he could really test his new idea without any side-eye from Sammy.  Like he needed to give that guy another reason to refer to Cas as his “ _special friend_ ”.

 _Dear Castiel, I have a pizza and some beer and a marathon of Vincent Price movies that aren’t going to watch themselves.  Tell your brothers to sit on it for a minute and come on down here._  

Dean looked about the room, searching the dark corners with a general sort of eagerness before letting movie’s stylized dread claim his full attention.  He was on his third beer and third slice, as the evil scientist sloooowly closed in on the blonde damsel strapped helplessly to his slab, scalpel flashing a sinister light across his hollow eyes.

“Hello Dean”

And he _did not_ scream out loud like a small child.

“Damn it Cas!  Give a guy a heart attack why don’t you!”  Castiel just stood beside the couch, appraising him with that silent, slanted stare.  In the darkness, with the syncopated flicker of the television at his side, Cas himself looked to be rendered in black and white but for the cutting blue that never failed to pin Dean hard where he stood.  After a moment he grinned, hot damn it had actually worked!

“I’m sorry to have startled you, but I’ve just found something that may be of some use to the three of you. I thought it prudent to show you right away.”  Hmmm…maybe it hadn’t worked after all. It was only now that Dean noticed the alarmingly heavy book in Castiel’s hands. “It is, well, I believe it was at one time a journal of some sort, likely of divine origin.”  Dean patted the cushion beside him and the angel slipped in a bit too close, opening the pages as he did so. 

“So you guys keep diaries?  Maggie said that Sara said that Gabriel was fluffing Michael’s feathers behind the gym?”  He actually want to read something like that, but all he saw on the withered pages were scrawled blocks of neat, illegible text and hand drawn ink representations of demons, monsters, claws and teeth and eyes. 

“I have not had time to fully peruse the text, it was found in….” Dean watched as Cas seemed to fidget and struggle for the words, “We discovered it among Michael’s effects.  They do not know that I have this, there is much he appears to have collected over the millennia and it is still being sorted through at the moment.  I figured Bobby could make a copy before it was missed, there is information here that is unique.  It could be of some assistance on future hunts.”  Dean took the book from Cas’ hand, turned it over with a bored sort of interest and placed it on the coffee table. 

“Wait, are you telling me you guys raided Michael’s bunk now that he’s stuck in the pit?!  That’s cold man.” Dean teased, and it had a noticeable effect on the angel, who stared at the hands in his lap almost bashfully.  It was downright adorable that he – Wait, hold on.  Dean shook his head physically as if his thoughts were a pinball machine that needed to be reset. It happened sometimes but he knew how to put things back in place.  _Word choice Dean._

“Well Bobby’s not back till tomorrow with Sam, I’ll give you a call when he’s done making copies.  He’s gonna kiss you for this.”  Castiel looked slightly concerned.

“I hope not.”  Dean had to laugh at that, then noticed Cas was struggling with something else. “I um…Dean… I cannot let this book out of my sight. They know it exists, and I’m the only one who would turn up missing that’s aware of the discovery.  Please do not take this as a lack of trust, but I must stay until he has finished with it, then return it straight away.”  Dean smiled widely and handed Cas a beer.

“Well then settle in for movie night!  I think the next one is _House of Wax_!”

*

“Well ain’t you two just precious.”  At the sound of Bobby’s flat, gruff voice, Dean bolted upright and looked around in confusion for a moment before his gaze settled on Sam’s stupid fucking grin that mean he was about the get razzed for the next hour at least.  Castiel was seated just exactly as he had been last night, hands primly on his lap staring intently at the screen.  Dean on the other hand had fallen asleep at some point, feet propped on the table, head nestled on Cas’ shoulder, his left arm draped across the angel’s torso.  _Goddammit_.

“Shut up bitch.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Sam snorted with laughter.  Dean pulled himself up quickly, fumbling for another insult before his eyes fell on the book. _Thank you blessed Mother of Changing the Subject._

“Well Bobby, break out your clean panties cause you’re gonna need them when you see what Cas brought you.” 

*

Bobby and Cas had moved to the library, pouring over the pages together in earnest and getting straight to work.  Sam followed Dean into the kitchen, stacking box after box of salt into a cabinet as Dean rummaged for his first beer of the day.

“Sooo…” He could hear it in his brother’s voice that he was not getting out of this one unscathed. “What have we told you about having boys over while we’re out?”

“Stow it Sammy, or I’ll punch you in the friggin’ face.”

“He does seem like such a nice young man.  We just want you to promise that you’ll be safe, use protection when the time comes.” Sam just barely holding in the laughter, this was fantastic, he could use this one for _weeks_.

“That’s it!” Dean lunged at his brother, taking out his legs as they tumbled to the floor.  Sam was roaring with laughter then, unable to stop even when one of Dean’s blows made it past his attempts at defense.  The boys grappled across the kitchen floor, the melee ignored until a particular throw knocked them both into a stack of boxes, the bottles inside clanking out a warning.

“You idjits break any of that Jack it’s coming out of your hides!”  It was enough to see them scatter to separate rooms, a movement perfected in childhood and repeated countless times over the years.

It took four full days for Bobby to scan every blessed page of that book.  Dean had been ordered to the store for paper twice, and bitched about it the whole way there and back.  Out loud he grumbled how this cut seriously into his “vacation drinking” but as he eyeballed the empty interior of the Impala he quietly admitted it was something else.  He missed Cas. The guy hadn’t been kidding about not letting that thing out of his sight, whatever it was had him on full Royal Guard, and Bobby was fit to propose marriage to the angel with whatever it was he was finding in that text.  So as the tedious work had progressed, Dean had gotten day after full day of Castiel’s company.  He’d never really considered it before, what with something usually trying to kill him on a regular basis, but Cas had never stuck in one spot so long.  Dean would wake up and know that Cas would be there, somewhere in the house.  He could round a corner and find him leaning intently over Bobby’s desk, or helping Sam pack salt rounds at the kitchen table.  It felt right, having him as a physical presence and Dean began to seek him out if they weren’t together.

 _Cas, Cas, Cas, where have you got to?_ He would intone little chants in his head until he found the angel in one of Bobby’s many rooms.  So when Bobby started making noises like the job was nearing an end, Dean felt a little tug of panic under his ribs. 

They were all in the library together watching Bobby organize the last sheets as Castiel gathered the book and spoke of his hope no one had noticed it was gone, he hadn’t heard any chatter to that effect from his brothers.  Dean felt sick, scowling at the untouched glass of whiskey in his hand as if that was the culprit.  He could feel the moment coming, and locked eyes on Cas’ profile.

_Cas don’t go._

Nothing he’s ever thought to the angel in his head had been so clear or so strong. But he was safe, not like anybody would know what a chick he was becoming.  Cas couldn’t hear him cause silent prayers didn’t work.  Hell, he’d been having full _conversations_ with the guy in his melon the last few days and nothing.  So when he saw the tiny movement, the barest clench of a jaw, the shift of gaze so quick as to be almost missed, Dean could reasonably tell himself he’d imagined it. For Cas didn’t falter in his speech, promising to return soon so they could get a proper look at what they had, just turned when he was done and pinned Dean with another of those intense gazes.  And in the space of a blink, he was gone.

*

“Son, if you don’t find some other way to spend your time besides drinking and bellyaching I’m gonna shoot you.” Bobby didn’t even look up from his papers.

It had been two weeks and Dean was insufferable, heck Sam was _still_ sporting a shiner from when he’d said, in the _nicest possible way_ , that Dean was just being a bitch because he missed his bestest friend.

“I’m just climbing the walls here Bobby! It’s been months and nothing!  Nothing is killing people out there man and it’s goddamned distressing!”

What he really meant was he needed a job to get him the hell out of this house.  Every sound sent him spinning to see if that familiar frame was standing behind him. _Get a grip Dean_ , he would chide himself, _it was nice having him around, but you don’t need to hang out with your friends every second like you’re some teenaged girl._

Restlessness plagued him, but Dean was mostly successful at channeling it into chores and training and torturing his brother, never letting his thoughts catch on the fact that there might be any other reason but boredom for his disquiet. But the day he discovered the spot on the sofa were Cas preferred to sit smelled of him, well, Dean had to do some serious mental gymnastics to come up with a plausible reason that he should defiantly sleep there that night, face down in the cushions. That was the first night he dreamed of Cas.

_Chasing something on a hunt.  Down an alley that becomes a corridor, the space growing smaller, the creature getting away. Never in sight, never in range. He stops, the darkness around him is so warm, invading the air like a presence, moving around him until it is solid, a person beside him, close but out of reach. He’s turning and turning until the figure is right there, finally in front of him. It presses him back suddenly, the wall at his back.  Presses harder, forcing him into the brick, crushing his chest, his arms pinned, air slowly squeezed until his lungs burn. His skin burns and the brick is grating the flesh of his back, his skull screaming from the pain of the contact. But this can’t end, please don’t stop…the pain and the pressure of this thing in front of him that wants.  He understands, he knows this thing though it doesn’t have a face he can focus on. Just a want that is his own, the pain growing sweetly and clutching at him till his bones begin to vibrate, threatening to splinter at the voice he has been waiting for, low and rasping and dark as his own need…”Hello Dean.”_

His eyes snap open, fully alert though it takes a few moments for his limbs to respond.  Dean is face down on the couch, body covered in a film of cold sweat, beneath him the most intense erection he can ever recall having.  And if that weren’t enough, it appears he has shrugged out of his own shirt in the night and knows, just knows with the crystalline horror of possible discovery that he has been grinding mercilessly into the couch beneath him.  Freezing like a goddamned deer, he strains to hear the telltale signs of life around him, mortified that Sam or Bobby might have gotten an eyeful of his…

A whistle.

The lowering pitch of something falling, fast and hard through the atmosphere. A meteor, a bomb. Dean jumps up and hurtles through the back door in time to see a streak of white coming in across the new morning sky at an angle that must almost certainly kill them all.  And for a fraction of a heartbeat, his thoughts slow and he can recognize them calmly, knows that he is not afraid of this kind of death. And when the smoke and the cold white fire are feet from the ground he sends up a final earthly thought.

_Awesome_

There is no explosion, just a great fume of dust as something digs a black scar across the dirt field. The mass takes shape and Dean is speechless.  It is Castiel, perched atop another angel, grappling with him, one hand grasping the man’s neck, the other fighting back the angel blade that hovers dangerously above his side.  There is no more thought, Dean rushes into the cloud of swirling dirt, skidding to his knees beside the prone angel. One hand finds a rock, brings it up and crashes it down into the iron skull.  Again and again, it will not kill him, but he has to do something.  Castiel twists the blade away, regrips the handle and brings it back around to plunge into the other man’s abdomen. The light screaming out blinds Dean for a moment, and when he can refocus, Cas is standing, scanning the field.  There is only time for a tactical look that tells the human all he needs to know.  It’s not over.

Three demons are rushing from the tree line, Dean glances around for something he can use as weapon.  Castiel notices.

“Where is your knife?”

“Kitchen table, in my bag.” The angel is on him in a breath, the demons silently streaking across the field, Castiel presses two fingers to his head and they are there beside the table. Dean rips open the bag, snatches the blade and turns to grab Castiel by the lapel.  He feels the shift in terrain under his feet, holding onto Cas a moment more to get his bearings.  They are right where they began, the sooty black outline of the dead angel’s wings beneath them.  There are five demons now, another two coming in from the left.

With a military grace they are in the battle, twisting beside each other, aware of the enemy at hand and the unseen blows aimed at the other man.  Dean blocks a blow to Cas’ left as the angel grabs another demon by the face, lifting him in the air before slamming his head into the dirt, smiting him. Dean’s blade sparks inside the neck of the second demon, the third scrabbling to his feet from where he had been thrown and turning to flee. 

The other two are on them now.  The one built like a truck goes for Castiel, while the tall woman puts her long reach to use with a savage elbow to Dean’s temple.  Having been struck in the head enough for two lifetimes, Dean does not allow the flash of pain fell him, merely uses the momentum to spin his body and slash open her throat in a vicious arch. The angel and the demon are trading blows, so it is easy work for the hunter to slip his knife in the meat of its back.  It really was a satisfying sound, that crackling, electric pulse of their death.  Without a word, Castiel has vanished, reappearing in a moment in front of the fleeing demon, letting the force of the man’s flight run him right into his waiting palm.

Castiel turns, striding back across the field, trench coat winging back behind him as he fixes his attention on the human. The angel comes to a halt a mere foot from Dean, panting from the fight but radiating so much power, such raw and graceful strength.  And the clench in Dean’s gut, the fire like a syrupy poison lighting each vein in agonizing turn speaks a truth that he can’t put into words. He has never been so turned on in his life.

“We have a problem.” The gravel scraped voice brings a fresh surge of blood to his pulsing cock.

_You’re fucking telling me._


	2. Chapter 2

Taking a moment to survey the carnage and reach out with his grace to see if there might be an additional wave of demons headed this way, Castiel doesn’t mean to ignore Dean, repeatedly calling his name, he just needs to insure they are well and truly safe before he tells the hunter what is going on.  When his gaze comes to rest on the human opposite him, the sight of his bare skin, tan and covered in earth and blood, knife still clenched in one hand, muscles ticking off in chorus prepared for another attack, it arrests him enough that he does not immediately respond.  And this is a blessing.

_Cas…Cas…Cas…_

The name, panted out on each exhale, was not coming from his lips, which are closed in a firm, tight line. He is _praying_ them, or rather speaking it out loud in his head.  And the sound of that rasping timbre pulsing in through Castiel’s consciousness thrusts down through his spine, doing strange things to his vessel’s stomach. _He doesn’t even know what he’s doing_ , he thinks in frustration.  Just the thought of the angel’s name is enough to port him into the man’s head, he cannot stop this action, it is totally involuntary.  To know an angel’s name is to hold the power to create a link at will, without the creature’s consent.  He knows the human does not understand.  _Stay the hell outta my head Cas, a man’s gotta have a little privacy._ And for a time that had been fine, he did not intrude or riffle as his brothers did so casually, even as the pull of their bond, forged when he pulled that soul from Hell, teased at him constantly to do so.

Castiel recalls it now, it had been the only intimacy ever allowed between the two, the careful, sacred work of Castiel’s grace and hands stitching the ragged film of the righteous man’s soul back together. Even then, torn and dimming as it was, it had still been brighter than most other souls were in one piece. It had been captivating, and Castiel never revealed to anyone how he had taken his time, run his grace over the body and soul perhaps more than was needed. This beautiful thing in his hands had known so little care, had suffered unimaginable torment , this one time Castiel could make sure he knew a measure of tenderness. Dean wouldn’t remember, but maybe some echo of that kindness could remain, even after Castiel must return back to the detachment his role required of him. That would be the end, and he truly believed his fascination would dissolve after that day, it was in his nature after all. But the bond was formed, and strengthened with each casual touch, each friendly exchange, each time Dean responded to a threat as if it was the human’s duty to protect the angel and not the other way around. Castiel took steps to make sure their relationship was only ever affably professional, though that line was sometime hard to distinguish with humans.

But now, Dean’s almost willful ignorance of celestial communication had presented a real problem.  Up until recently, Dean had only ever spoken to Castiel out loud, as if the angel needed to use his ears to receive a prayer.  With that and the human’s firm demands to keep out of his “melon”, it had been easy to let the hunter believe his privacy was safe.  But something had changed.  

Not long ago there had been a call, and then another a short space behind that.  This happened twice, an echo, before Castiel had realized what was happening.  Then it had moved on, a sentence, a phrase, curling little fingers of the hunter’s voice worming into his head at all hours.  It took effort now not to just pop in at the first sound of his human’s call, he had to pause, to evaluate the quality of the prayer so as to only appear when he was sure the request had been spoken.  Dean might not understand, he might be having a bit of fun now, but what would happen when that had passed?  What if he believed the angel had been lying all this time, that his thoughts had not been private, that Castiel had been prying into his mind without his consent?  It would be a terrible affront, he felt sure Dean would see it that way eventually, might despise him for it, for this thing he was totally without power to control.  And so he let the human believe, ignoring as best he could that voice that held so much draw.

But that night.  

He had been thinking of Dean, how the lull in monster activities had meant there was little reason for the man to need his help.  He thought of the brothers, getting a much deserved rest, maybe happy for a minute in a joke between them, and he missed Dean terribly. 

Castiel was in a chamber of Heaven that had been closed off almost since its creation, Michael’s quarters.  His garrison the one charged with cataloging the belongings, for though they all thought Michael would return someday, somehow, his rather significant post needed to be filled.  And the things he had collected, the relics, the weapons, the knowledge, must be categorized and prepared for whoever was to be the replacement.  At least that’s what they had been told.

The moment he laid eyes on the tome, his thoughts snapped to the hunters. Nothing like this existed on earth, he was sure of it.  With a few cursory glances, he could see the details, the notes and passages that told of spells lost to time, of portals on earth not even the angels knew of, lineages of monsters with the names of their Alphas.  Prophecies that hadn’t even been spoken of yet. Everything else they’d been sorting through were all trinkets, ageless, priceless, useless stuff, but this?

This was going to be taken, locked away where…..

_Dear Castiel, I have a pizza and some beer and a marathon of Vincent Price movies that aren’t going to watch themselves.  Tell your brothers to sit on it for a minute and come on down here._

He physically started at the voice, clear as if the man was standing at his side.  But it was a test, he knew this, and the wonder he should be feeling at seeing this previously unknown corner of Heaven, at holding treasures he might never touch again, could not compete with the overwhelming desire to go to his human’s side, to leave the glory around him and do something so simple as sit on an old couch and watch a film with Dean.

It was very good his brothers were not looking this way, for the smile as he looked down at the volume in his hands would have caused them much concern.

Something like this really should be shared with the hunters…..right now, in fact.

*

Digging graves on an empty stomach was never typically an option, but just now it was the single most important task at hand.  Dean needed to drag, push, shovel earth over the burned bodies of the demon vessels, fill his nose with the smell of the backhoe’s fuel instead of the ozone and rain that came from Castiel as he stood too close. He needed to stop the itch in his muscles with the task of heavy labor to distract them, and other parts, from the mutiny they were about to invoke.

It was humiliating, standing practically naked and so visibly aroused in front of Cas. The adrenaline and desire and satisfaction he got from a good fight were roiling over each other, feeding back and building to an unbearable pitch as the small shard of his rational thought was battered and whipped on the tide as he tried to deny, deny, deny. He did _not_ want Cas. That wasn’t an option. This was the high of combat, they had fought together in such a terrifying union, that must be what was exciting him.

_You want to take him_ , said the tide.  _You want to tear that coat from his shoulders and mark that clean white shirt with the dirt and the blood on your hands, to pull him down with you and make him filthy with a map of your touch. You want to hear that voice cry out your name in a new way._

Dean kicked one of the bodies into the ditch, appreciating the sound of something crunching under his heel. He hadn’t meant to be so short with Cas when told him to take care of his brother’s body and round up the boys while he got rid of the rest.  He just needed to break that goddamned spell, get some space between them so he could think again.

_Jesus, what the fuck Dean?!_

Ok, so he _had_ felt himself getting closer and closer to the angel, he knew that. With everything he’d done for them throughout their battle with Lucifer, it had just felt like bringing someone else into the family fold.  A friend, someone who trusted them and had their trust, who was trying his best to do what was right and protect life, same as the brothers, in this swamp of bullshit pulling them all down.

_Seems to be getting a little X rated for just a friend…_

It wasn’t, it couldn’t.  There shouldn’t even be a doubt about this.  It wasn’t only that he never thought of himself as gay, the surety of his previous desires hadn’t ever allowed such a consideration a moment’s purchase.  He truly liked women, they were such a refreshing change after a job, the ones he pursued the right kind of trouble.  He didn’t have time for a chase.

But he’d had a perfectly good reason for never picking someone and trying to settle down.  The hunt was his mate, and as much as the tug of a family came to him in quiet moments, he had come to recognize that it wasn’t really something he should have.  He was a better man when he had someone to fight for, but could he really fight for Lisa or Ben sitting in one place, ticking by time until some evil twisted thing from his past took them apart before his eyes for vengeance?

His brother was a skilled hunter, born into the life, yet each time he was in danger or suffering, Dean understood painfully why most hunters worked alone. Besides, Sammy was going to leave him one day. The softness in him, the need for an open emotional bond that Dean just could not fulfill, would drive him into the arms of some pretty blonde thing. So he would be alone eventually, living the hard freedom that had become such a drug.  And it would be good, alone kept everyone safe.

And if that thought and a drink weren’t enough, he would find a woman with a pretty face and a warm body that made him feel charming and strong, let him pretend for a night that this soft thing beside him was his to protect and he was able to do it.

Then, fuck it all, along comes Cas.  A warrior of God that could break his fragile human body without effort, and when he was with him, Dean had never felt stronger.  The fight this morning had only accentuated that fact. Cas lived in his world, could keep up, made Dean keep up with him. It was that otherworldly strength coupled with the angel’s innocence that drew him, picked at him slowly until he found their friendship wasn’t enough.  He wanted more, but there was an end state, so impossibly far it could not even give itself a name.

Dean yanked the gears of the backhoe mercilessly as the scoopfuls of black earth fell in soft _whomps_. Goddamnit he needed a drink.

*

“Are you tellin’ me Heaven’s got a hit out on us?” Sam and Bobby were sitting at the kitchen table, Castiel at the window, searching the perimeter with more than just his eyes.

“No, that is unlikely.  Should Heaven itself command your deaths, this place would be obliterated.  They are very thorough.” Castiel could hear the machine Dean was using to bury the bodies clunk to a halt.  He pondered a moment if he should wait to continue.  “I believe there is something unseemly going on among some of the ranks in Heaven.  There are conflicting orders, there are secrets. I should have been more attentive to why, after so long, it became an imperative to open Michael’s chambers.”

At that moment Dean returned.  He scowled at each of them in turn before ripping open the fridge and grabbing a beer.  The cap skittered across the counter, accentuating a thick silence that spoke to how he must look.  He was still in his boxers, though a gapping tear in one side exposed his whole right hip.  From the waistband there he had tucked in Ruby’s knife.  Blood streaked the fronts of both shins where it had run from the abrasions on his knees.  Every last inch of him was covered in dirt and sweat and he wanted nothing more than a shower right now, but he had successfully curdled his desire into anger and he knew at least he could get some satisfaction out of that.

“Talk.” Cas wasn’t looking at him, was pointedly staring at the center of the table. Good.

“As I was telling them, something has happened.  We were ordered very suddenly to open Michael’s chambers under the directive that his effects might be required by the angel chosen to replace him. This is odd, there are enough Archangels in the firmament to handle matters for a few thousand years at least.  But we went in, and I found that book, and when I returned from showing it to you, I placed it somewhere it might be discovered. A newer recruit to our garrison, Hecatea, I watched as she uncovered it and took it to the brother in charge.  I got the very distinct impression that it held significance for them. Shortly thereafter we were ordered to leave, that the job was finished though it very clearly was not.”  Castiel risked a glance at the group, “Then they began to question us, about our human charges, about our interactions. They made it all sound like a general inquisition for the whole of Heaven, but I know for a fact they only questioned those with human charges that had been in that room.” The boys exchanged looks, Sam the first to speak.

“So they know someone saw something, but they don’t know who?” Castiel shook his head.

“I can’t be sure of that.  They could suspect a human had handled an artifact, or they could just be tying up probable loose ends.  Then a human charge died, in a demon attack. I returned to Michael’s chambers in secret.  It has been destroyed along with everything in it.” Castiel moved to the window again, as if a fresh threat was pulling his focus. “I felt dread. I watched you from Heaven, and this morning I saw Benedict flying towards you with intention.  I stopped him.” Castiel turned to Dean now, “And then the demons came.” Dean downed the last of his beer, glanced at the fridge and decided against another. He pointed a finger at Cas, the empty bottle still in his hand.

“And you’re sure this is over that book?” Castiel glanced toward the library, as if the text in question was watching them.

“Not entirely, but sure enough. There was nothing else that might cause this sort of reaction. Things of great value, yes, priceless, but nothing that warrants a _partnership_ with those abominations.”

“So you think if someone wanted to keep its contents a secret,” Sam pondered, “Even from the company of Heaven, they might look to…outside help?”

“Alright, here’s what’s going to happen,” Dean stood up and set the bottle down with a little too much force. “Bobby, you’re going to go in that room and read every friggin’ page of that thing front to back till we find a reason why they want to roast our marshmallows.  Sam, you’re going to get us food, real food, cause we ain’t leaving till Bobby’s got this figured out.  I’m going to get a shower.”

“How do you need me?” The blue eyes almost pleading.  _Goddamnit Cas, phrasing._

“You help Bobby, you’re not going anywhere till we got this figured out.” At that he stomped upstairs. 

Closing the bathroom door, Dean leaned heavily against the sink, propped on his hands and glowering at himself in the mirror. He’d barely made it. The anger had begun to dissipate the moment he realized that Cas had saved them, _yet again_ , from his own asshole family. And without that anger as a rooting distraction, Dean had begun to feel just how unclothed he was and that began to feed a fresh arousal.  He’d remembered the dream that had wracked his unconscious, how the feeling never fully faded even as he ran outside into what he thought might be his own fiery death.  He remembered how the sight of Cas in trouble bled everything but purpose from his mind. How they had fought together so perfectly, the way the angel looked when he strode across the field and what that sight did to him. He had been sitting there pissed off at the difficulty he was having piecing together these new emotions when Castiel’s eyes had raked over Dean’s body in that clinic way of his and, knowing how much of himself the angel could see under such insubstantial fabric, had activated his instinct to flee.

_Dammit Cas_. He groaned. This was a terrible idea.

_What the hell are you doing? You’re making him stay?!_

_Cas is a friggin’ angel, he can leave whenever he wants. This is just a job._

_Bullshit, he’ll do whatever you ask and you know it. He could be doing a hundred other things upstairs to help, he doesn’t need to be under the same roof. Tell him to leave._

_I want him here._

_Listen you, I’m the brains of this operation. You just get me into trouble._

_Dean, get in the shower. It’s not like he’s going to know what we’re doing…_

_No! No. Stop that. We are NOT—ok listen, stop………ONE TIME. Do you hear me?  We do this one time and then that’s it.  Get it out of your system brother cause it’s not going to happen again._

_Yeah, I got it! One time…_

*

Castiel sat on the couch in the library utterly confused.

There was an argument going on upstairs, which he was trying not to listen to, focusing instead on what Bobby was saying about dividing up the work. For a moment he’d thought the brothers were in an altercation about his presence here, which made him sad, but then Sam had bounded out the front door and the voices hadn’t stopped.  How was that-? He now realized, they both sounded like Dean.  Castiel attempted to go back over the bits of conversation he’d half heard, trying to piece it together when a wave of images crashed over his back with the sound of his name and soaked him with liquid fire.  It was so sudden and needful and unexpected that he hadn’t realized his whole body tensed under the assault.

“You ok boy? You look like somebody’s tossed a badger in yer lap.” Castiel looked up, willing his limbs to relax, but the images were coming too fast. Of lips and teeth, of the buttons of his shirt being ripped from their moorings by strong, greedy hands.

“You better be careful with that, we only got the one.” Bobby was eyeballing the copied page in his hands, strained and threatening to split under the insentient force of Castiel’s fingers. He took a breath and focused on composing himself, how was he to explain to Bobby that he was having a hard time concentrating when Dean was upstairs pleasuring himself to Cas’ image, sending him the thoughts and lighting every inch of his skin on fire?

Castiel eased his grip on the paper, picked up two more. The lie of reviewing them hiding the fact that he was fully tuned into what was happening just above him.

The onslaught of images came in a random jumble, as if Dean had been flicking through channels on the television.  It was almost too fast to comprehend, and in a moment they ebbed, and Castiel thought it might be over, his heartbeat beginning to slow.  Then his head lit up with the picture of Dean standing in the garage next to his baby, leaning against the hood and dragging his eyes slowly up to the ceiling.

“Cas I need you.” Castiel sucks in a real breath at the low register of the hunter’s voice. In his head, he sees himself appear and a small tremor breaks out in his hands with anticipation.

“Hello Dean.”  The world seems to pause, and in that space another wave of desire knocks into him brutally.  Curious, that the greeting he uses each time he meets Dean should have this kind of effect in the dream.  But he does not have time to consider this further as the fantasy continues with Dean making predatory steps toward Castiel, stopping a good distance before fishing something from his pocket.  It flashes as he flicks his wrist, but it takes a familiar click for Castiel to recognize it.  Dean’s lighter.  The flame flickers an eternity as it falls to the dirt, and then his double looks on in shock as the ring of holy fire ignites and he is firmly trapped.  

Castiel’s heart begins to pound so hard Bobby must hear it.  Holy fire was something angels feared, an inescapable prison from which only luck or mercy may free them.  The thought that Dean might want to trap him for another purpose entirely is thrilling. He watches the two of them, staring at each other over a border of flame, neither moving, neither looking away.  The tension strings out and Castiel can feel it physically piercing into his chest.  He has stopped breathing altogether.

The fantasy Dean finally moves, stalking the perimeter of the circle, eyeing his prey.

“Take off your coat.” The Castiel in his mind freezes, eyes wide.

Dean makes it halfway around, stopping when he sees Castiel has not complied with his demand.

“I can wait forever Cas.” The angel follows the hunter’s gaze, eyes locked.  The moment stretches to breaking before the angel carefully removes his trench coat, extending an arm to let it drop in a soft pile. Dean resumes his pacing, raising a hand to gesture at the jacket, shirt and tie.  The angel swallows hard and Castiel feels his real vessel do the same.  Long fingers unknot the fabric at his throat, pulling it undone and letting it snake to the ground.  Next each button is slowly addressed with shaking fingers, the shirttails tugged from the waistband of his trousers.  When it is done, he shrugs out of the garments and stands, breathing hard, as Dean comes to a halt in front of him.  The hunter appraises the firm planes of pale skin glowing with the surrounding blaze.  Dean crosses his arms in front of his torso, easily lifting his own shirt above his head to reveal the smooth expanse of hard muscle, shadows dancing in the terrain of his curves.

Sitting ridged on the couch, Castiel feels his arousal becoming unmanageable, the waves of desire so unrelenting it is all he can do to keep himself still and silent as Bobby reads not ten feet away.  He wants to run upstairs and beg Dean to stop, to make this torture end but then he thinks on what might happen at this moment if he were to be confronted by a very real, very nude Dean Winchester fisting his own cock under the hot spray of water, suddenly made aware he was broadcasting these thoughts to the person in the starring role.  It would not end well.

“The rest.” Dean in the fantasy watches, shadows and light darting across his features.  The angel doesn’t hesitate this time, discarding the rest of his clothes until he is fully naked and standing helpless as the flames surrounding him and the flames within compete to burn him to ash.

“Dean please…” But the hunter only glares as he continues to undress himself.  “Why are you doing this?”

And his own voice sounds so desperate and raw; Castiel knows that if he were to speak at just this moment his vessel’s voice would sound the same.

The human’s body is beautiful, poised and taut with purpose and he can see every stark line of muscle and how it ripples beneath the skin. The hunter advances over the wall of fire untouched.

“Because Cas, you’re gonna stay.  I will keep you in this spot until I’ve found every way there is to make you come apart and beg.”

“Excuse me please - - I need a…m-moment.”  Castiel stumbled out of the library, unable to stand it any longer.  Bobby gave him a quizzical look but said nothing.  Managing not to tear the door from its hinges and run at full speed, Castiel walks stiffly down the drive, looking left and right for somewhere, anywhere he can hide from the onslaught in his head.  It doesn’t stop.

Dean threads his left hand in the angel’s hair and pulls back hard, baring lips and throat to the hunter’s whims.  The other hand slides down the angle of his side to reach around, gripping the curve of Castiel’s ass and pulling their hips together in an exquisite pressure.  Castiel clutches at Dean’s chest.

“How long do you think it will take me, hmm?”  The hunter lowers his mouth one agonizing inch but does not make contact.  Castiel bucks in protest but his head is held firm by Dean’s hand.  “To rip every filthy sound out of that pretty mouth of yours?”  Dean rolls his hips hard and the coarse staccato moan that flies out of the angel is shockingly obscene, but it is nothing compared his next cry.

“Deeeannn….”

His vision goes white at the edges as Castiel careens to the side, the rusted skeleton of an old car the only thing breaking his fall.

_“Unhh…Caaassss!!”_

His own name is screamed through his head.  Then it stops.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean leaned against the tile wall, head resting on one arm as the water, now cold, drew some of the residual flush from his skin.  Reaching for the knob, he realizes last minute he hadn’t even washed, just jumped in and eagerly began abusing himself to the image of his best friend.

_What the motherfucking hell was THAT?!_

Dean had a fairly robust history of masturbation, and though he’d never done it with a man in mind before, he’d assumed it would be an easy substitution, switch the players, start the game, everyone goes home with the same trophy.  But cycling through the usual smut that got him going didn’t work.  Then he thought about what was drawing him to Cas in the first place.  The otherworldly strength and self-control and what it might take for Dean to overcome both. Because damn if Dean didn’t love a challenge.

_Sweet baby Jesus did it spiral out of control from there._

In the entire sorted history of Dean Winchester imagining sex while touching his own dick with his own hand, nothing he’d come up with had ever been so erotic.  And fuck it, he hadn’t even been able to make it to the good part! Just came like a friggin’ freight train the minute he imagined that sultry voice saying his name like that.

_Again, Dean, what the fuck._

Once clean, he toweled off vigorously before yanking on a shirt and some jeans.  The front door clattered and a moment later Sam called out the food was here.  He was famished and made it to the top of the stairs before freezing.  Oh my god Cas was down there.  Fuck he was going to have to face him and talk with words and act as if he hadn’t just had one of the most intense orgasms of his life while picturing the angel trapped in holy fire and forced to strip.

Dean braced himself as he walked into the kitchen, relieved and minorly disappointed that Cas was not there.  Sam unloaded groceries into the fridge, Bobby laid the take-out on the table.  They would look at him sideways if he did what he wanted and polish off a half bottle of whisky at 9am, so he settled for a beer, flopped down in a chair and began to make short work of his sausage egg bagel.  When they were about done, Cas came back.  Though at that moment Dean became distinctly interested in what the label of his beer had to say.

“Where’d you get to?”  Bobby munched his home fries while eyeing Cas.

“I- uh, there was some - - talk of Benedict over the airwaves and I - -uh…wanted to make sure they- he wasn’t missed.  At the moment.  He’s not, but he’ll be suspected missing eventually which is why we should figure this out quickly so I will be in there going over the text.”

“Don’t you want something to eat?” Sam called after him but got no response.

*

The next few days were nearly identical.  Long stretches of time in the library, each of them with a different section of the journal, pouring over the contents and occasionally sharing a passage or referencing another of Bobby’s books.  Though all four of them were living practically on top of each other in that tiny space, Dean and Cas found a way to stay on opposite sides of the room as much as possible.  Dean also made a concerted effort to find the fine line between acceptable levels of drinking for a hunter, and flat drunk.  When that line was a speck in his rearview mirror, Dean would mumble something about needing a break and wander out into the yard, frequently ending up in the garage.

It was frustrating for all of them, they didn’t even know what they were looking for. A lot of this stuff wasn’t exactly new, just more detailed and it was easy to get distracted by the slick, four word exorcisms, or that, despite its name, the Jersey Devil was an immortal hell beast who roamed a territory that included most of the tri-state area. Dean was nearing the less-reading-more-stabbing phase of his research patience when Sam finally hit on something.

“This is weird.” Sam, stretched back on the couch, leaned forward in sudden interest at the page in his hand. “Bobby, you know anything about a creature it takes both an angel and a demon to kill?”

“Lemme see that.” Bobby reached across the desk, scanned the page. “Well this don’t look like there’s much to it, never heard of something like that though. Says here: _To bind the Spirit, the vessel must be brought to a place untrod by man.  Tethered to an altar of bone may a blade of Heaven and a blade of Hell, wielded by a hand from each, secure the Spirit to the earth.  An age upon an age may pass, but should a son of man cross the plane the Spirit will rise._ “ Bobby turned the page in his hands, took up the adjoining ones. “But there’s no name or nothin’, doesn’t even say what this is, just slapped that bit down without another peep. Does look like the only thing we got so far that puts angels and demons on the same dance floor. Any of this sound familiar to you Cas?” The angel shook his head. Sam joined him and the rest gathered around.

“Yeah well, see here, you have this prophecy or incantation or whatever, but then down here are these numbers, the top ones crossed out, like a check list.” Castiel leaned in.

“They are coordinates.” Everyone looked at him askew.  “All angels are versed in the mathematics of this earth, were we not it would make our flight through space all but impossible.  This here,” He pointed at the first crossed out sequence in the list, “Is a set of cliffs in Greece.  This here is a section of bamboo forest in rural China, this is an island in French Polynesia.”

“And this one?” Dean pointed at the first that was not crossed out.

“That is a field in Montana.”

“Well boys,” Dean rubbed his hands together in glee. “Looks like we’re hitting the road!”

*

This was his wheelhouse, the rumble of the Impala, watching the world slip beneath her tires on their way to killing something.  Didn’t matter that they didn’t even know what they were going after exactly, all past experience with angels and demons said that he was eighty-five percent sure he would get to kill something.  And fucking hell did he ever need to get back to that kind of normal, no more having to think about the proximity of a certain winged nerd in a house that seemed to get smaller by the hour.  And defiantly no more “shower time”, not that it wasn’t a temptation. Still thought about it though, couldn’t seem to help it.

Castiel had said he’d meet the boys in Butte to regroup and go over any new info Bobby might have dug up in the meantime.  Sam seemed just as please to get back out there, back to the type of stuff they used to do before they spent all their time running from or running to Lucifer.  By the time they made it to a motel and Sam was on the phone with Bobby, Dean felt clear, he felt like the weirdness of the past few weeks was just a fluke.  It didn’t mean anything.  In fact, he was going out tonight.

“So,” Sam flipped his phone closed and began to set up his laptop on the tiny motel table. “Bobby said these coordinates aren’t just a field, they’re part of the Bitterwood National Park.  But this isn’t some normal take photos with Bambi park.  It was established in the 30s after a series of deaths in the area.  Looks like anyone that tried to get within a mile of this spot either disappeared or was found with their eyes burned out miles away.” He gave his brother a knowing look.

“Sure sounds like angel killing to me. So what happened after that?” Sam shook his head.

“Seems there were a few hunters that went sniffing around, but they didn’t turn up anything cause back then it was a hard spot to access.  The local law chalked it all up to a serial killer, and when no one wanted to develop, the place was made into a preserve. The rangers just steered people away out of superstition and the killings stopped.” Dean rummaged up clean clothes.

“So he any closer to figuring out what it is we’re looking for and if we need to kill it?”

“Uh, no.  But I’m going to do a bit of research, see if I can find anything local that gives us a clue.”

“Great,” Dean grabbed the keys and his jacket. “I’ll be doing a little researching myself in town. Don’t wait up!”  Sam gave him a look.

“Shouldn’t we call Cas?  Tell him where we are, fill him in on what Bobby found?”  Dean was already out the door.

“You call him.”

*

It was very disconcerting.  He had watched humans since their creation, could recognize most of their emotions, knew the cause and effect, that some were a nuisance while others could be deadly. Knew the pleasant ones seemed to be sought with singular purpose even if the search proved more painful than the desired reward. Dean’s emotions were mostly easy to translate by now, he liked to pride himself on some sort of self-imposed control, but really, it was all right there though their motivations sometimes eluded Castiel’s understanding. But now something was changing, he himself was feeling things, and having spent so long in the cocoon of angelic detachment, it was difficult to properly categorize what was happening to him. 

After the brothers had left for Montana, Castiel found an abandoned house, had stood in front of the mirror in an attempt to see what Dean might see. But all that looked back was Jimmy’s vessel.  Castiel removed his coat, his jacket and shirt, slowly, like he’s seen in Dean’s mind.  The act itself held no thrill this time without Dean’s eyes on him. Naked, the body he saw in the glass was typical of most healthy, white males, slimmer than Dean’s, paler skin but not unpleasing.  He thought of Dean’s body, the rough cut muscle, the sun browned skin and bright green eyes. There was a stir in his gut, and Castiel watched with interest as his genitals reacted from just this thought alone.  This wasn’t really a shock, his connection with Dean was, at times, difficult to explain, but at its core it was simple.  Being with Dean was exciting, challenging.  He was attracted to Dean, to Dean’s soul and its bright flame, but also to his physical body. Being near him made Castiel feel almost whole, in a way, which was a puzzlement sometimes as he’d gone so very long without even knowing there might be something out of place.  But he had made sure that these burgeoning feelings were kept to himself. The fact was, angels did not consider such things as gender to be of any import other than the biological necessity they fulfilled when humans wished to procreate, but for such things as sex, intimacy, it became tricky.  This male body had simply been his ideal vessel, and for the purposes of human interaction, he referred to himself, as the other angels did, by the vessel’s gender. But he was drawn to Dean for Dean, and the mechanics of it never gave him a moment’s pause.  He was aware, however, that Dean would not feel the same way.

He wondered if these new feelings changed the way he looked, like it did Dean. He tried something else, he thought of Dean’s laugh and playful smirk.  Now the feeling was in his chest, warm and spreading out from the center.  He thought of Dean in pain, suffering at the sound of Sam’s screams as he had detoxed from demon blood.  Now the sensation was tight and hard, still in his chest but more acute.  He looked at his own face, but it was the same placid features, though maybe with a deeper drawn brow. How were other humans to properly identify his state if his own visage responded so subtly?  These things didn’t feel subtle, they ran riot within him.

Castiel sighed and looked at the rumpled pile of clothes at his feet.  In a blink he was redressed. It was tempting to seek out a brother, ask him if this sort of situation was typical of an angel and its human charge. But he refrained, for when he gave it more thought, there was already enough prattle about him and the elder Winchester to know this wasn’t normal. No one would guide him, he was alone.

_Um…Castiel.  We are in a motel called the Wagon Ways in Butte, Montana and - -_

He was already there, standing beside Sam and using the rest of his senses to tell him that Dean was not there.  Sam was sitting at the table, rattling off statistics of a natural recreation area that encompassed the location they were seeking.  Nothing the younger hunter said was of any real assistance and so he said what had been on his mind since he’d arrived.

“Where’s Dean?”

*

The bar was typical of the brothers’ choice in drinking establishments. It was too loud and smelled of cheap alcohol and sweat and synthetic perfume.  Castiel didn’t bother to hide himself, the crowd and dim lighting were enough for that.  He had found Dean immediately, something so beautiful was easy to spot in such a place as this. The hunter was leaning on an elbow at a corner table, listening to the babble of a young woman with long black hair, garish makeup and blue contacts that made her eyes look fuzzy and unnatural.  Every one of her sentences ended in a question and every question was punctuated by a little jut of her chest. Dean smiled easily, this woman was doing her best to entice him, but the hunter was already snared.  He looked happy, and that usually made Castiel happy in turn, but instead he found himself just standing there, staring at the couple and becoming angered.  He had no right to this anger, he knew it, but it sat hard under his ribs and chipped, chipped, chipped.

Dean leaned in and murmured something in the woman’s ear.  She giggled and stood abruptly, knocking into the table and spilling her drink.  Dean just slid out and drawled something low in her ear again, getting a sigh and an arm around the waist.  They were leaving, and Castiel watched until he observed Dean turn in his direction.  The angel vanished from view instantly.  He noticed Dean pause a little, scan the room, but he continued to lead his companion to the door with a smile. Castiel praised himself for acting so quickly before reappearing outside in a darkened corner. The two figures stumbled to Dean’s car, pausing several times to tangle up in a sloppy, groping kiss.  He should leave now, return to the motel in the morning.  But it was the look that changed his mind. 

Dean, all smiles and charm, lead the woman to the passenger side, guided her into the seat and gave her one last winning smile before shutting the door.  As he made his way around to the driver’s seat Castiel saw it, the briefest pause, the smallest drop in the eyes and shoulders. It was enough to convince Castiel to ride with them in the back seat, hidden from their senses.  Dean had been drinking after all and could use the protection.

*

“Beat it Sammy, this is happening.” Cynthia or Syndia was draped over his shoulder, giving his brother a leering smile and already taking off her heels. Sam gave a bitchy huff in protest.

“The library is closed Dean, and I still have research to do.” Dean shrugged and gave him a lopsided grin. 

“So get another room.” Sam rolled his eyes but gathered his things anyway, heading out to the front desk.

 “Fine, but if there’s no more rooms this moves somewhere else.”

_He should be the one getting laid._

Dean locked the door and turned back to Cynthia.  Or Syndia. She was already kneeling on the bed attempting a pose that was intended to be seductive. Dean shucked everything but his jeans before crawling in next to her.  He pulled her easily to his chest and her hands began a roaming, directionless caress that was nice, but too delicate for his liking.  He kissed her, a soft nipping introduction of lips.  She kissed back, pecking and licking around the line of his mouth. When their tongues met it was so slack and dispassionate he moved quickly to her neck.  His hand found a breast and squeezed, she moaned high and sweet so he squeezed again.  He found the skin beneath her dress. Soft, she was so soft and liquid beneath his touch.  He grabbed a hip, pressed his fingers into the skin and heard her wince.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!”

He laid her down on the bed, stretching out on top of her, kissing across the line of her collarbone until he found a spot to suck.

“Hey, no hickeys, m’kay?  I got work in the morning.”  Dean mumbled another apology, then caressed the length of her with the same placid strokes she’d been using.  She just lay there, making identical ”MMMMmmmm” sounds that didn’t seem to correspond with anything he was doing. He sighed between her breasts.  Maybe he should just call it a night, this wasn’t what he’d wanted.  He’d gone out to release all the tension of the last few weeks.  It had been ages since he’d gotten properly laid, and his sudden celibacy with regards to helping _himself_ out, once just part of the routine, like brushing teeth, was tainted with a realization that the only scenario he wanted to imagine involved someone that wasn’t even human.  He was off his game, he just needed to get back out there.  And now here he was, an attractive, willing woman beneath him and it was filling him with nothing but disgust.  He didn’t want to be gentle, and he sure as hell needed someone who wasn’t going to be gentle with him. 

“What the hell?!”  The woman bolted upright, staring at something over his shoulder.

“Hello Dean.” Now it was Dean’s turn to shoot up and whip around to see the angel standing there, just inside the door.  He was too shocked to properly deal with something that felt a little close to relief. 

“Cas, what the fuck?  I’m kinda busy right now.”  The angel didn’t move.

“My apologies, your brother told me you would be back later, so I have returned.  I did not realize you would have company.”

“What the hell is this, I thought you locked the door?”  Cynthia looked back and forth between the two men who were locked in a stare that was making her increasingly uncomfortable.  “Wait a minute. This ain’t one of them bait and switch things is it?  Get me in here and oops, my friend accidentally walked in, let’s have him join, too!”  She squirmed out of Dean’s hold and grabbed for her shoes and purse. “I ain’t like that mister, no matter how cute ya are.  Yall are gonna have to find some other poor sucker to pull this shit with cause I’m out.”

“Wait….Syndia…”  Her look said she knew his heart wasn’t in trying to make her stay.

“Sydney, sweetie pie, but nice try.” 

She was gone and Dean was alone with the last person on earth he wanted to be half dressed in a seedy motel with.

_Not last…only…_

_Shut up._

Coming to his feet, Dean made his way over to the dresser, pouring himself a generous drink.

“You couldn’t wait until morning?” 

“You are angry with me, I’m sorry.  I thought we would be going over strategy before leaving in the morning.  I’ll let you get your rest.” Dean sighed, swiped a hand over his face.

“No Cas, it’s fine. I’m not mad, in fact I - -maybe should be grateful to you.  Take off didn’t seem to be going so smoothly.”  Dean collapsed on the couch and hunted around for the remote.

“You did not find her pleasing?” Dean shrugged and switched on the television, motioning Cas to join him.

“Hmmm? No she was nice to look at and all but, you know, sometimes it just doesn’t line up. Sparks not there or something. Hey, _Enter the Dragon_!  Cas you gotta watch this one, it’s awesome!” Cas turned his attention to the screen.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a fist make that sound before.  It doesn’t seem to obey the natural sound properties of human flesh.” Dean laughed nervously as he looked sideways at Cas.  At the word flesh he’s suddenly realized he was still without a shirt and it was like a cartoon coyote noticing for the first time he’d run off the cliff.  Suspended by the illusion they were two friends watching television, Dean plummeted down into the reality.  Dean squirmed a bit, then stopped when he saw the movement was drawing Cas’ attention.  The angel was looking at him in that way, studying each angle, taking his time to turn the focus of his curiosity on every inch until Dean felt utterly exposed and raw.  It was too much, being the object of such inspection.  He knew it was only Cas’ interest in humanity, taking in information to process in that motherboard angel brain of his.  It was innocent; besides, he really didn’t want to start a conversation with Cas about why this was wrong. People didn’t look at their friends like that, they looked at lovers like that.  But the off-hand joke he had to put a stop to it was stuck in his throat.

“Will your brother be back soon?” And goddammit it hurt, physically hurt to pull himself together and out of the imagery of those words being said in a different context.  Dean licked his lips, his mouth suddenly so dry despite the drink.

“Uhhh…no.  He, uh, got another room cause of Sheila.” Dean jumped up and made his way to the window, peering out the curtain as if they were being watched.

“Sydney.” He glanced over his shoulder at Cas.

“Hmm? What?  Oh- - yeah Sydney.” Dean made his way back over to the couch. “So um, tomorrow is just, like, reconnaissance and stuff.  Not a lot we can do if we don’t know what we’re getting into. And since there’s no one to really interview, we’ll just have to head over to the park and see what we can see ourselves.  But I think we’re going to get an early start, so if you want to stay here…..you can.  Watch some TV or use the computer if you want.  Just don’t watch me sleeping.” He scrunched his nose, it was the closest he could get to letting the angel know being looked at like that was driving him nuts.

 “I’m going to take a shower and hit the sack.” He didn’t wait for an answer, just shut the door behind him and stood there listening to the sounds of Bruce Lee kicking ass in the other room.

_This is not how you get over your weird little whatever-this-is for that guy.  GUY, Dean.  Guy._

_I know, fuck it don’t you think I know that?!  But he would have left, he always leaves._

_Good, perfect!  That’s what you should let him do because this isn’t real!!  You’re under a lot of stress, and he’s always been there for you.  In a really intense sort of way? Yes.  But we both know how much you like intense.  That doesn’t mean you can start something with an Angel of the fucking Lord that you don’t even know how to finish!_

_I’m not going to do anything!_

_Bullshit, you were so close.  He’s your best friend Dean, how many of those do you have?  What you DO have is a stellar track record of screwing up every good thing in your life.  Do not fuck this up because you want to relieve a little tension and for some reason angel boy is doing it for you right now.  It’s going to change, this is just a faze and when it’s gone you still want to have him by your side._

_Fine, but then I get to think about him when I…_

_Alright, for the sake of the friendship, think about whatever filthy thing you need to in here so that you can face him with that shit on lockdown.  No more thoughts, no more harmless flirting, no more trying to keep him around.  The only thing you can have is when you’re alone._

*

The guilt was crushing. Not only had he gotten the brothers into whatever this situation was with Michael’s journal just because he had been looking for a reason to be with Dean when he called and the book had literally been at hand, but now he’d followed Dean back to the motel in secret and _deliberately_ interrupted the intimacy the human liked to enjoy with strange women because he was jealous. 

Jealous. It was a new sensation and a nasty one at that.  Unlike some of the other things he’d been feeling this one was easy to decipher.  Thou shalt not covet this drunk woman’s fornication partner.  He had been planning on staying hidden, watching his hunter and hating himself for it, but that look came again. Castiel couldn’t let this happen, not just because it caused him jealousy, but because he felt that Dean did not want it.

When he appeared and the woman was turned out into the night, Castiel was prepared to leave, take the time between now and dawn to contemplate these new feelings and the actions they were causing him to take.  He wasn’t sure this was at all right, it was deceptive and covetous and he felt that Dean deserved someone with more noble intentions. 

“You did not find her pleasing?”  He couldn’t leave _just_ yet.  His human’s response would hopefully answer the question that had gone unasked.  _What do you find pleasing?_ But Dean’s answer was noncommittal and in the following moment Castiel was invited to stay longer. 

The movie was strange to him, but it was always nice to be near Dean.  However, he must have said something wrong because the human began to act as if he were uncomfortable.  Castiel wished to ask him about it, discover his error when he noticed that Dean hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt, was sitting splayed out next to him.   He thought of the last time he’d gotten to see Dean’s body like this, the day he’d stopped his brother and those demons from attacking.  Castiel took in the whole sight of him, not able to stop staring if he wanted to, and he didn’t.  There was something tightly coiled yet empty feeling in him, a lacking and want that was also solid. He needed to have more of the human, but he was sure that Dean would refuse him anything that might truly satisfy this need.  This was the Righteous Man, his charge and he was an angel with so much more power than the hunter that anything he tried to take would be had without the hunter’s consent.  It was such a deeply terrible thought, that should Castiel breach their friendship with something more Dean would feel trapped by the desires of a far more powerful being and hate him for it.

He could look though, he could study all the places he wished to touch and remember them.  Dean was accustomed this breach of etiquette, and Castiel used that fact to his benefit.  Dean always did like to think of the angel as far more innocent than he actually was. He didn’t want this moment to end, he wanted a whole night of letting his eyes drink in the beauty of this man, but he knew any time they had together would be short lived.

“Will your brother be back soon?”

He wouldn’t.  Dean would be alone tonight and was inviting him to stay.  He would let himself do this, it was an invitation after all, but only if he was honest with Dean.  _I can’t promise I won’t watch you._

He didn’t get the chance though, Dean was shut up in the bathroom before the words were out.  Nevermind, he would tell Dean when he came out.  The man would probably be gruff about it, but Castiel didn’t mind that.

_Oh Cas I can’t take it…._

Castiel looked up, the water was still running, but Dean hadn’t come out of the bathroom.  He blanched when he realized what was happening….again.  His heart began to pound slow, hard.  It sounded to him louder than all the snapping kicks and punches coming off the screen. 

The prayer ignited Dean’s thoughts in Castiel’s mind. There he was, he could see the hunter now as he stood, the water slushing off his back in shimmering rivulets, following the branching grooves of his back.  He was running soapy hands over and around, making his skin shine with the slickness.  There is a soft sound, a flutter of wings.  A heat assaults the angel, then stays and builds around him, a labored, burning desire that is coming directly from the human into Castiel.

The angel sees what Dean sees, a hand that reaches into the shower and pulls away the thin curtain.  His double is standing there, clouded in the mist of steam and spray. 

“Cas, what are you doing here?’

The angel slides his eyes down the length of Dean’s body, openly appraising everything.  It takes forever, and endless inspection that Dean can almost feel like a touch.  When those blue, blue eyes finally meet the hunter’s green ones, they are dimming with desire.

“Continue.” The low command rocks Dean back on his heels, “I want to watch you.”

“Fuck Cas…”

Casitel presses his body harder into the couch, head thrown back and biting on a lip to strangle the groan determined to come out.

Dean begins long, slow strokes along his skin, slicking up everything as Cas stands there, following the movement of the man’s hands with extraordinary attention.

 Dean’s own heart is beating so hard Castiel can hear it in his head and finds his own thrumming along at the same pace. 

Dean’s hand makes a tentative trail down, down.  He pauses, seeking a permission he can’t put into words. 

“Touch yourself Dean. Show me how you need to be handled.”

The sound of Dean’s breath is ragged and low and Castiel is straining to hear if it’s real or part of the fantasy.  He has to hear him.  The vision he sees is the only thing. There is no touch, no scent, no taste.  There is no pressure of two wanting things charging the space between them with desire on the brink of fulfillment.  Castiel digs his fingers into the cushion in frustration, only stopping when he hears threads begin to snap.  Dean will wonder why he’s torn the couch to pieces.

Dean takes hold of his cock, flushed dark and straining.  He begins firm slow strokes, even though Cas can tell the restraint is a torment.  His fingers draw up, thumb running over the swollen head and coming back down.  Dean whimpers, his lashes drooping closed.

“No, open your eyes.  Look at me.” The hunter does this and the sight of the angel, direct, controlling, commanding the space but staying just out of reach is maddening.  He shudders, picking up the pace, squeezing and stroking in time with his panting breath.  But he doesn’t look away, he must do this, endure Cas’ stare.  Cas is looking only at the hunter’s cock, the piston of his hand, glancing up now and again to make sure Dean is still watching him watch the human’s work.

“Faster Dean, but don’t come undone just yet.  Let me see what you can withstand.”

Dean slams a hand into the tile wall, causing Castiel to jump with the vibration.  That was real, he realizes and in his mind he can see the layout of the tiny room.  The wall that Dean presses against is the same partition at Castiel’s back.  He turns, sitting up on his knees and pressing both hands and his forehead against the plaster.  He can hear the water running through the pipes, and beneath that a muffled sound of movement.  Dean’s movement as he does to himself just exactly the things he’s showing the angel.

Dean can feel his muscles straining, his body shuddering towards release, but Cas won’t let him.

“Not yet Dean, there is more I need to see, and if you end it now we will have to begin again.”

“Please Cas…” Human eyes are nearly black and begging.

“Please what?”  Dean just shakes his head.  He can’t.  He can’t say the words.

“Very well, then stop.”  There is a whimper of protest but he obeys.  “Now, you may hold yourself, but do not move.” 

Dean does as he’s instructed, shivering as if suddenly cold.

“Listen carefully Dean.  You will take your other hand and slide one finger only inside yourself.”

_Goddamnit Cas!_

Castiel can barely stand it, the straining pressure of his own erection is screaming at him.  Still pressed against the wall the angel rubs a hand across the fabric looking for some relief.  What he gets is a deeper ache that informs him such timid movement will not be enough.  He has never done something like this before, but watching what Dean is doing gives him enough to go on.  Castiel quietly undoes his pants and plunges a hand down into the folds.  Finding his own cock, he grips it just as Dean had, firm but unmoving.

Dean shifts his weight back off his hand, propping one foot up on the rim of the tub.  He needs balance, his head is swimming and if this continues much longer he’s afraid he might black out.  Watching Cas, always watching his face, the hunter lets his other hand trail down and around behind him.  When one finger finds his entrance, he stops, afraid suddenly and unsure.

“Dean.”  But that’s all it takes, his name on the angel’s lips, for him to push in, soap slicked and throw his head back at the sensation.  “You may continue.”

In the other room Castiel begins to pump his own cock in tandem.  It is unlike anything he’s known, a pleasure that is both a relief and a tinder igniting deeper flames.  It’s not enough, but Castiel keeps his pace with Dean, unwilling to break this connection.

In the gathering steam, Dean pumps both hands, gaining speed.

“Cas - - aahhh…I need…”  Cas just tilts his head and leans in a fraction.

“What do you need Dean?  You’re going to have to tell me.”  It’s painful, words are painful, but this strain is close to killing him.

“More…”  He gets out raggedly, “I need more.”  It would have to do, it’s all he has.  Cas nods.

“Then take another finger inside of yourself Dean.  But this time I want you to feel.  Find that spot within you.  Show me.”

A feral noise escapes Dean’s throat as he pushes in another finger.  Twisting and curling them inside himself, there is a spark of electric pleasure when he finds it.  Dragging in and out across that spot, he lets Cas see what this does to him, fights to keep his eyes on the angel.  He is so close.

“Cas I - - please it’s…” And he is gasping, pleading for an end.

“Yes Dean, do it…come for me.”

With a broken cry he is over the edge, head thrown back, features twisted with the terrible pleasure.

Castiel has held on a long as he could, but when he hears the hunter’s cry through the thin wall, feels the shaking vibrations of the man’s release reverberating in his skull he knows he has seconds before he too is lost.  He does not have the control to stay silent.  In a blink he is surrounded by desert, kneeling pressed against a bolder instead of a wall.  And at that moment the angel comes with a pitiful choked sound, painting the red rock with his release.  Shuddering, he sinks to the sand, alone and swimming in sensations that flash and melt in a kaleidoscope he cannot understand. 

_I can’t go back.  Not tonight._

If he sees Dean after what just happened, it will be impossible to keep it a secret.  Dean will know something is wrong and do his best to pry it out of him.  Cleaned and dressed in an instant, Castiel sits propped against the rock, hugging his knees to his chest.

Dean is a virile human man with healthy sexual appetites.  As much as Castiel would like it to be otherwise, these fantasies about him did not mean Dean had deeper feelings about the angel.  Humans frequently fantasized about things they had no desire to experience in real life.  Dean was just working out some sexual energy and mental curiosity in private.  But what Castiel had just done was wrong, he knew it had to be.  Pleasuring himself to the inner most thoughts of his human.  It was so base, so unseemly.  Dean would never forgive him if he knew.

The air barely moves, the stillness around him absolute.  Castiel noticed how very cold it could get in the desert, but he didn’t feel it.


	4. Chapter 4

With a map of the park taking up half the table, Sam plots out the best route and what they should probably bring in terms of weapons since driving directly there wouldn’t be an option.  Dean barely registers what his brother is saying, just shovels pancakes into his mouth and makes a point to not, under any circumstances, make eye contact with Cas, sitting across from him in the diner booth, studying the map intently. 

It had taken about five extra minutes last night, locked in the bathroom, for Dean to come up with a plan for what he should say to the angel if the guy asked him about the noise.  He wasn’t stupid, as much as he told himself in the moment that Cas wouldn’t hear anything above the sounds of the television, the water, the traffic outside, the guy was a supernatural being.  And even if he hadn’t been, thin motel walls and careless abandon meant the people in the _next room_ had probably heard him.   

_Just gonna be straight forward. I’m human, these things happen.  He doesn’t need to know the gory details.  I took him to a whorehouse for God’s sake…_

But Cas was gone.

_Fuck it all Dean, you just traumatized the guy, of course he’s gone!  This is so friggin’ embarrassing._

When Cas had joined them in the motel parking lot the next morning, Dean knew immediately he’d been right.  Cas wouldn’t look at him, barely spoke.  He wanted to apologize or something, make it a joke about ‘motel life’ so Cas wouldn’t be so damned uncomfortable. But not around Sam, no need to make things even more awkward.  By the time they’d finished breakfast and were on the road, Dean had resolved himself to never mentioning the incident.  Ever.  Cas would just have to get over it.

Parking about five miles from their destination, the group geared up and hiked a short ways up the nearby trailhead and away from possible observers.  Cas laid a hand on each brother’s shoulder, porting them close enough that they could survey the area at a distance. 

The woods were pristine, cool, the ground they were on sloping up to the east.  Taking a moment to orient, the group made careful progress up the hill.

“Do you hear that?”  Sam looked about in concern.  “It sounds…”

“Dead.”  His brother finished, noticing how not a single sound could be heard.  There were no animals or insects, and though the breeze blew lightly, it did not rustle the leaves or grass.

“This does not seem natural.” Cas intoned.

“Well looks like we’re in the right place then.”  Dean took the lead, and a few minutes later they’d arrived at the crest.  What they saw made them flatten to their bellies in the shrub, Sam pulling out binoculars to get a better look, though they could see quite clearly what was in front of them.

The hill leveled out into a clearing, sun dappled and undulating in long grass and wildflowers.  It would have been beautiful but for the strange, cylindrical structure in its center.  The building, for it had clearly been built, was nearly two stories tall and composed entirely of rough black basalt.  No windows, a round pitched roof that was suspended up a few feet above the upper rim.  It looked for all the world like an enormous stone chimney but for the heavy iron door facing to the north.

The strange, otherworldliness of this structure would have been unnerving enough on its own, but it was the sight of demons, a multitude of them, standing motionless across the expanse of the field that caught their breath.  They were waiting, or watching and the boys knew there was no way they could get through the perimeter alive.  Cas turned pointedly to Dean.

“I will take care of the demons, you two hold back until it’s clear then make your way into the building.”  He moved to leave but Dean grabbed his arm.

“Wait Cas!” He hissed, “There’s too many of them, they’ll drain your batteries and then what happens when we get inside?  There could be anything in there.”

“We don’t have another choice Dean.”

“Hey, Dean look, it’s not ideal but we’ve got no other way to get in there.”  Sam said, “Cas can handle this and if it gets too hairy, we bolt.  Come up with Plan B, but at least then we’ll know what we’re dealing with.”  Dean really didn’t like it but he knew they were right.  Castiel rose and strode deliberately into the clearing, going as far as he dared to insure he was seen.  Too many heads turned, eyes black, and they all began running.  Cas waited until he was sure they were within his reach, then unleashed his grace in a radiant explosion that felled them all where they stood.  Cas stumbled, and Dean could see the iron door open and four more demons rush forth.  He didn’t hesitate, running at full tilt past Cas and throwing himself at the first one.  Sam was by him in a second.  It was chaos as the brothers were beaten and thrown to the dirt, but one by one they picked off their attackers.  The door was open but nothing else had emerged, so they all took a moment to collect.  Cas didn’t look too good.  He’d never smote so many at once and the wear was showing.  All three of them crept up to the entrance, brothers with guns drawn, and made sure it was clear before slipping inside. 

The room was one huge open space, no cover, so they sidled along the wall, staring at the tableau before them, unable to process what they were seeing.  The interior should have been darker, but it was illuminated from the light streaming in from above and the enormous ring of holy fire that burned around the circumference of the chamber, leaving a border of only a few feet for them to walk along.  Cas was pressed hard against the wall, the heat from those flames much sharper to his grace.  The ring itself was a frame, the outer edge of a massive devil’s trap.  At the very center was a giant bent column, standing upright in the dirt like the curve of a bow. A young woman, face twisted in pain, was tied down to the column on the convex edge, her skin and shabby dress streaked with black soot and what looked like blood.  On her right was another black eyed demon, plunging an obsidian sword into her belly.  On her left was an angel, eyes lit brilliantly blue with her grace, forcing an angel blade into her chest.   They were all three of them fixed, the two creatures not so much attacking as holding on, using all of their strength to keep the blades in place as a pulsing yellow light seeped out of her wounds along with the streams of blood.

“Theresa!”  The angel turned at Cas’ cry, a look of horror on her face.

“You know her?”  Dean asked.

“She was one of Raphael’s soldiers, but we’d been told she died hundreds of years ago.”

“Castiel?  You shouldn’t be here!”  The angel cried out as the demon beside her growled at the men. 

“What is this Theresa?”

“This is not your place!” She spat back, “They will kill you all if they know you are here.  Leave, and I will not call our brothers down to obliterate you.”

“I don’t think so sister, way I see it you two got shoved in a cage with whatever the hell that is and I somehow doubt you want to risk letting the people that put you in here find out you’re chatting with us.”  Dean hopped over the flames, keeping his gun trained at a good distance.

“You stupid meat bag,” hissed the demon. “You’re going to burn, our followers will die to protect us!  We are the pillars of the Apocalypse and our work will see the birth of a new age!”

“Hate to break it to you,” Sam sneered, “But that ship has sailed.  Michael and Lucifer are locked in the pit, looks like nobody bothered to tell you.”  The two creatures exchanged looks.

“You lie!”  Screamed the demon, moving to attack, but as soon as he did the sword began to slip and the woman stirred.

“Victor no!  We’ll never get her back!”  That put the demon back in his place, but he shot murderous looks at the boys.  Dean moved in.  “Stop!  Castiel you must not let this human any closer.” Theresa was panicked.

“Why not Theresa?  How is it you are here with this abomination?”  She looked for a long while at the woman, something large and unreadable in her expression.

“Is…how do you know Michael and Lucifer are locked in the pit?”  Castiel gestured to the brothers.

“I was there. These are their own vessels.”

“The Winchesters?!” The demon was livid. He turned on Theresa. “If this is true I will gut you where you stand!”

“Victor he lies!  Not even their own vessels could have stopped the Apocalypse, not without her!  You must trust in me, the day is coming, they will not be able to prevent it!” They could hear her weak hope dying.

“Theresa,” Cas’ voice was nearly a whisper. “It is over.”  She looked defeated for a moment, but when her head raised again there was something terrible in her face.

“If there is to be no battle, no victory for Heaven, then Raphael will rise to rule the Host.  I will keep my post, Castiel, and no one will have her.  My brothers will see you dead.”

“Speak for yourself bitch, my Master is in the pit!  Your pathetic archangel was not part of the deal!”  Victor ripped the blade from the woman’s body.

“Where will you go Victor?  You cannot leave, come back here and I will tell my brothers to spare you.”  He ignored her.

“How about we make a little deal of our own.” Dean piped in. “You tell us what _that_ is, how you planned on working the Apocalypse with it, we consider breaking the devil’s trap and say tata till next time we cross your ugly mug.”  The angel was struggling, without the other blade it appeared the force she’d been holding back had doubled.  The demon smiled.

“I could use some fresh air, but I won’t betray my Master.  Nobody gets to stay topside forever.  So halfway then, hmmm?  She’s not an “it” she’s a “the”.  When the angels got it in their heads to reorder the progress of the end of days, they knew they couldn’t do it with her around, she would stop them.  So the archangels and the knights of Hell made a deal, we keep her under lock and key, the big fight gets to happen when we want, may the best man win.”  Cas’ attention snapped to the other angel.

“She’s calling Raphael’s angels!  Dean we have to move!”  Dean pulled out Ruby’s knife, pointing it at the demon’s throat.

“Nothing funny and you get out of jail free.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Victor purred.  “And a friendly suggestion, you really don’t want to be here if she doesn’t wake up.” The ground began to thrum with a vibration.  They were coming.

“Sam!”  His brother jumped the fire and pulled out his bowie knife, digging at the dirt until the line was broken.  The minute it was done the cyclone of black smoke poured from Victor’s mouth and out the door.

There was a blast of gold light, and Theresa was knocked back into the dirt at Dean’s feet.  The walls were shaking, the roof threatening to buckle.  Tied to the column the woman groaned and gasped but did not open her eyes.  Theresa looked at the woman and laughed bitterly, raised her blade and plunged it into her own ribs.  Sam and Dean ran to the woman, cutting her bonds and easing her down. 

“Hey Sammy, I think this is a _dinosaur_ bone!”  Sam gave him an incredulous look.

“Really?!  Now?!”

“Uh, yeah, later…”  Dean shrugged sheepishly, but patted the thing one last time before turning.  “Awesome.”

Sam scooped the woman into his arms and they ran, Dean grabbing Cas’ coat sleeve to pull him out the door.  The whole field was ringing with the sound of angel voices.

“I can’t get us away, I don’t have the strength!”  Cas’ face was drawn as he looked at the sky.  The ringing became louder and the brothers winced at the sound.  In Sam’s arms the woman’s eyes fluttered open and she labored for a breath.

“Where?”  They just looked at her.  “I take…you to… where?” 

It was worth a shot.

“Five miles west of here.” Sam said, and the woman held a weak hand up.

“Hold.”  The boys looked at Cas, but he just shrugged and took her hand.  Dean did the same.  In a flash they were almost back where they started, the Impala only yards away.  The sound of the incoming angels was still audible, though thankfully at a much greater distance.  The group made a break for it, diving into the car and skidding away.  Dean tore down the highway with no real direction in mind other than _away from here._

They were nearly in South Dakota before they stopped.  Cas had been listening to angel radio, but nothing about Raphael’s soldiers came through.  He had assured them that with his grace so worn out at the moment, it would be impossible for them to track him.  In the back seat, Sam held the woman, unconscious again since she’d transported them away from danger.  They found a motel, sneaking the woman in and laying her on the bed.

“What do we do now?” Sam asked.

“Wait, I guess.”

They kept watch, Cas at night while the boys took the room next door to sleep.  A full day passed with no change.  They’d performed every test on her while she lay there unconscious, but were still no closer to figuring out what she was.

“There is one way.” Cas looked at Dean, for he knew how the hunter felt about such measures.  “I could touch her soul so that we might know who she really is.”

“No. No way Cas, besides the fact that that routine is straight up torture, we know for a fact that this thing isn’t human.  We don’t know what that will do to you!” Cas just stared him down.

“True, it will likely be unpleasant.  But we must find out why Raphael and the others would go to such lengths to hide her.”  They argued back and forth until Sam stepped in.

“Jesus you two, look, Dean, I don’t like it either, but we need to know.  Just, Cas, be careful.”

“Fine, try not to blow up.” Dean scowled.

“I will, it is not an experience I wish to repeat.”

With rope from the car, the brothers tied the woman’s hands to the headboard to protect Cas.  Removing his coat and jacket, Castiel rolled up his sleeves and sat beside her on the bed, taking a moment to look her over before gingerly slipping his hand into her center.  The reaction was immediate, the woman arched and gasped, Castiel gasped as well, his eyes lighting up electric blue.  She strained against the bonds and the bed creaked dangerously.  Abruptly she let out a cry that didn’t sound at all like pain to Dean.  The ropes snapped and her arms shot forward, but instead of pushing Cas away in agony, she grasped both his shoulders and pulled him forward, forcing his arm deeper inside her.  The two of them remained fused, straining into each other and looking to all parties like people in the throes of passion.

And the bolt of white hot jealousy went from the top of Dean’s skull out through his toes.  _I’ll kill her_ he thought and he didn’t even ask why.  He lunged, but before he could make it Cas was launched backwards through the air and into the wall as if electrocuted.  He slumped to the floor.  Dean was at his side in a second.

“Castiel!”  The woman was awake, scrambling off the bed and running to the angel’s side.  Dean had gotten him to standing, but he didn’t let go even when the creature ran to Cas and kissed him lightly on the lips.  Cas was trembling.  Dean stared at both their lips, wrestling with the fact that his brain had shorted out all but two words right now.  _My. Angel._

“It’s you, I thought you were gone.” His voice was a revenant hush.  She smiled at him kindly.

“Why would I leave?  Because Father did?"  The brothers exchanged glances.

“Um, Cas..you mind cluing us in to who the hell this _is_ , another of your angel buddies?”  Dean looked the woman up and down.  Despite looking tired and drawn, she was beautiful. Long dark hair and light grey eyes that were nearly silver.  Her aquiline nose and full lips, along with the strange style of her dress, made her look rather like a Greek statue come to life and then run over by a truck.

“Dean.” She turned a smile on him that warmed his very soul and before he knew what was happening she had drawn him into a soft kiss.  “And Sam.”  Now it was his brother’s turn.  The boys were speechless.  “There. Now I can see you. I am Delia.”  They looked from her to Cas.

“She’s the Holy Spirit.”

“She’s the what now?” Dean was gaping at both of them.

“Wait, dude, you’re like, God?” Sam didn’t know what to do with his shock.  Should he be in awe, pissed, scared?

“No” said Cas.

“Yes” said Delia in unison, then gave him a mildly exasperated look.  She gave the room a sweeping glance then sank into the bed, bouncing on it a minute with a wide smile.  “Castiel’s just being loyal, I’m not Father, but I _am_ the divinity that remains.  He’s more weekend Daddy, I get full custody.”

“I think I just broke my brain.” Dean shook his head. “Wait, how the hell do you know our names?”  She gestured to Cas. 

“When this little angel was _inside me_...” and the inflection was deliberately lascivious. “I got a jump start _and_ all the juicy details.  You two!”  She was laughing now, almost in tears. “Do you know the amount of fucking planning that went into setting up this whole premature Apocalypse bullshit?  All the while those assholes were scheming and clawing and betraying behind our Father’s back to get me out of the way and not one of them thought it would be two puny humans, their damn vessels for fuck’s sake, that would derail the whole show! Fuck, I love you two so much!”

“Is the Holy Spirit supposed to curse this much?” Sam asked Cas.

“I have never meet-“ He looked over her vessel. “her before, but from the rumors  I’ve heard over the millennia in Heaven…yes.”

“I bet you never heard about the really good stuff!”  She laughed.  “I’m starving!  I haven’t eaten in, like, a hundred years!  Let’s get some food and wine in here because I’m _free_ and about to give you some next level cosmic knowledge. We need a full belly and some booze to handle that.”  She looked at her clothes, then snapped her fingers and in a blink she was in a pair of tight black jeans, black boots and a tshirt.  She looked almost human, except for those flashing silver eyes.

“Ok, well why don’t you tell us what you want and I’ll go pick it up for you.” It was a bitch of a time trying to come up with the right combo for an errand. Dean didn’t want to leave Sam alone with her, Holy Spirit or no, and he couldn’t leave Cas. It wasn’t even possible for him to create an excuse for that. Couldn’t, he couldn’t and that was going to be that. So when she made a point of insisting she was going too, he didn’t need too much convincing to agree.

It was like taking a puppy outside for the first time, this dusty little nothing of a town they’d found themselves in was the most interesting place in the world to her, especially the people.  They couldn’t get two feet before she started chatting up whoever was in reach, a wide smile and an easy laugh.  And she was a hugger. Every stranger she treated like an old friend, and all of them left a little dazed but with a contented look when she finally let them be on their way.  Dean was on edge, waiting to see if the other shoe would drop and he’d be forced to kill her.  Or try killing her, he was pretty much sure that none of the usual tricks would work if it came to that.  Just keeping her in sight was proving exhausting, twice he’d turned around for a second and she was gone, only to find her standing too close to some poor bastard the way Cas did to him, telling them how great it must be to own their own business or what beautiful stiches an old woman had made on her crocheted sweater.  They practically had to drag her back to the car by the ankles when they were done.  

At the motel, however, she turned her charm full force on them, and even Dean had to admit she was turning out to be good company.  They sat around eating and drinking and relating the details of how they’d rescued her.  And from the little she gave them, and Castiel’s apparent trust, it _was_ looking more like a rescue than a hunt.  Cas did seem to trust her, to be a little in awe of her in fact. Dean watched the angel as he fixed the gaze he normally reserved for him on the laughing woman. The little twinge he felt at the sight was just his suspicious nature around unfamiliar supernatural beings. That’s all it was.

She’d refused to tell them anything about herself until she was done her meal, insisting instead they recount their whole histories as Dean and Sam Winchester, hunter heroes. The brothers found she was easy to talk to, genuine in her interest, and most importantly, _human_.  That was the strangest part.  They might as well have been drinking with an old hunter buddy, except this one chugged two bottles of bourbon one right after the other. Dean just had to ask.

“So don’t get me wrong, you seem like a lot of fun and all, but in our experience most of Heaven’s residents don’t seem as….”

“Normal - - “ Sam finished.  “We’ve never met an angel like you before, they all…”

“Have a giant stick up their ass?”  She offered a sly smile and a wink to Cas.  “Most of them do, not all though.  You got yourself a good one here.  He’s broke in all the right places if you know what I mean.” And she poked him in the ribs with a toe.

“I am not broken.” The angel sounded worried.

“Of course you are darling, that’s what makes you decent!  It’s also why I’m willing to tell you what I’m about to tell you.  Lift the veil and all that, only the archangels know these things, and for good reason.  Most of you pencil pushers would slit your fucking wrists if you knew the truth.” She gave the angel mirthful squint. “But not you I think, so I guess let’s get down to business and see who needs therapy in the morning."  She snapped a finger, and her bottle was refilled, sipping it as she talked. “So like Castiel said before, I’m not an angel and therefor my home is not in Heaven.  I’m the Holy Spirit, and the garden is my place, here on Earth with you.  We’ll do the short and sweet cause the human brain doesn’t even have the capacity to think in the dimensions of God, no offense.”  Sam shook his head and Dean rolled his eyes. _He must be getting such a nerd-on from all this._

“Once, we were one, and when Father decided to create this place, create you, he made me as well, but not in the same way.  While you and everything around you, including the angels, come from materials he crafted with His hands, I am _of_ Him.  A cutting from a tree that is repotted and grows on its own.  I am not the parent organism, but we are both “tree”.  If that makes any sense.  Anyway, he made the angels to watch over Heaven, keep that realm running and manage the souls.  That has always been their job, worker bees, keeping the machine oiled so the other side is ready when you pass on.  As for me, my job is humanity, protecting, guiding, inspiring the greatness that is inside you when the time comes.  You are my children in a way and I love you.  And though I am God, _my_ job is not to rule Heaven, or rule anything really.  The angels were well equipped to do their tasks, and it was all fine for a while but then the bickering started and the archangels thought if they could outdo each other, show Father how special they were then he wouldn’t leave.  Lucifer especially had a hard time with the truth.”  She turned to Cas with a sad smile.  “He was never going to come back Castiel, Father living in Heaven, watching over you like you believed you needed.  It’s not what God does.  This is not the first world, nor the last.  He is creation, He is the maker and He must do just that.  Create a world, bring life into it and then move on.  He returns when He can, but the Host was meant to function without Him, and I was left on Earth, like other Spirits on other worlds, to care for mankind.”

“So he abandoned us?”  Sam blurted out incredulously.

“No more abandoned than when a child is grown and moves out to start their own life, though sort of the reverse in a way.  But He sees you, and though it may seem like you’re alone, you’re not. What you think of as silence is really Father protecting the greatest gift He’s given you, the only thing that matters.”  She turned to Dean. “Your free will.  Even the angels have it, though most of them don’t know it.  Castiel is proof of that.  But the consequences for their choices had to be steeper, things would fall apart if _all_ the workers started walking off the job!”

“You mean falling.”  He looked distraught and Dean felt for him, wanted to wrap an arm around the angel and tell him fathers suck and that _they_ were family now.  But he didn’t.

“Falling, yes, but there are other things.  Being shut out, being shunned.  Living with the pain of a wavering faith. You know these things Castiel, and you know why?  Because you did what Father wanted, you put humanity first.  And you were punished for it by Heaven, but I’m here to make sure you are also rewarded.  I’m going to reward my new favorite humans too!”

Dean didn’t seem too thrilled at the prospect.  “What exactly are we talking about here?  I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve developed a healthy fear of celestial beings doing me any favors.”

She laughed at him, finished the bottle and jumped up, swaying a little and rubbing her hands together.  “Don’t be such a _girl_ Dean!” There was a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I already see you, you gave me aaaaaall your hopes and dreams.” And she blew a kiss as a reminder.

“So what, you’re some magical make-out fairy?” She let out bark of laughter and flicked an errant hair out of her eyes.

“I get in there with less than a touch, but kisses are so much nicer. You three are getting the deluxe package, top shelf blessing from the Holy Spirit.  Castiel my sweet, you’re first.”  Cas didn’t move, looked at the brothers for help.

“I have never heard of an angel receiving a holy blessing from you before.  I do not believe it is allowed.” She rolled her eyes at him and pulled him to his feet.

“It’s not common, but basically your rules mean fuck all to me, so hold on.  This may tingle in a special place.” She smoothed a thumb across his brow and Cas’ eyelids drooped closed at the touch, a light smile on his face, then she released him.  “Now you lover boy.” She pounced on Dean, straddling his lap and wrapping both arms around his neck and purring in his ear.  “Such a pity, I could have so much fun with you.  But your blessing only works if I keep my hands to myself.”  She gave him a wink, then swiped a thumb over his forehead as well.  His whole body felt like a golden warmth was being poured in, saturating his being down to the cells.  It was so profoundly peaceful he didn’t want it to end, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her tightly to his chest.  She returned the embrace, and he felt a burn in his eyes because this was exactly like when he was a child and his mother had hugged him close.  And then it was over and he sat dazed as she sidled up to Sam.

“Your turn!”

“Wait!”  But his hesitation was ignored as she touched him in the same way.  Dean watched his brother’s whole body tense, hands clenched in fists at his sides. But when it was done he smiled one of his big dopey smiles.

“So what does this mean, are we super powered now or something?”  Besides the residual glow of her touch, Dean didn’t feel any different.

“No,” she giggled. “I’ve just taken something in you and given it a bit of a shine is all.  Every blessing is different, but they all mean a great fortune is now squarely in your path.”

“Well, we could use some of that.”  Sam laughed.  She fixed a wicked look on the younger brother.

“Dean and Castiel will come into their blessing somewhat sooner than you.  I’m afraid you have a few years to go before your dominoes are in a row, but I’ll make it up to you.”  She turned to the angel, somewhat more soberly now.  “Castiel, it is not my place to ask, but I need you.  I am not at full power, but when I am I plan on kicking down a few doors and slapping some of those bitches around upstairs for what they did to me, what they tried to do to my children.  I don’t like to interfere, but they forced my hand, and hell, someone’s got to set those cunts straight.  But before I can do that, there is a very important matter I need to attend to.  Would you stay with me, you and the Winchesters, and be my protection until I am restored?  This is not a command, my dear, just a request.”

His face lit up. “Of course, if my friends agree.”  He looked to the brothers.

“So we help you out, you’re going to storm the castle?  Tell me you got Raphael on that list cause that guy’s a tool.”

“Dean, I’m going to pluck his wings till he looks like a bald chicken.”

“I’m in.” Dean deadpanned.

“Me too.” Said Sam.

“Great!  So road trip in the morning!  Dean you and Castiel will need to stay here tonight, I’ve got plans for the big one.”  She turned to Sam.  “I’m going to climb you like a tree and see if you can shake me off.”


	5. Chapter 5

It was the longest night of Dean’s life.  With a truly epic slap on Sam’s ass, the two of them were gone, but it didn’t take long for Dean to figure out from the free-for-all next door where she’d taken him.  Part of him, the part that didn’t have a pillow jammed over his head in horror, was actually impressed.  Sam had never been outgoing with the ladies, but what was going on in there sounded incredibly….athletic.  When the wall right next to his head began to pound in a rhythmic violence Dean sat up and looked at Cas, who was sitting on the couch across from him listening to the screaming and the furniture crashing with calm interest.

“Are we sure she’s the Holy Spirit, that doesn’t sound particularly holy to me.”  He could hear her laughing inches away as his baby brother screamed obscenities.  _You did think he needed to get laid._

“I am quite certain.  She does not tend to fraternize with my kind, but there have always been stories of her exploits, rumors, and given the memory span of an angel and their lack of exaggeration I would say it is likely all truth.”  There was a crash of something heavy so high up on the wall behind him, Dean couldn’t possibly imagine the physical act that could have caused it.  He jumped out of bed and joined Cas on the couch.

“And do those rumors involve acting like a sorority girl on spring break?”  Sam’s moan came through much too clearly for Dean’s liking, this had to be some kind of revenge for all the nights Dean had embarrassed Sam with some woman he’d picked up.  Cas looked at him in confusion.

“I have never observed the behavior of such humans before. But if you mean sex, then yes.  I have been told she very much enjoys the company of humans.  She is rather like a Cherub in some respects, though with far greater power and without the directive to match specific humans up as mates.”  Dean looked at him, realizing for the first time that night what this encounter might mean to him.

“Hey, Cas, are _you_ ok? I mean, she basically told you your father was never coming back, and you spent all that time looking for him…”  Cas caught his stare and they sat there for a moment too long, Dean trapped under the weight of it. 

“Your concern is appreciated, but I feel surprisingly…at peace.”  A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.  “I admit it is not a pleasant thought, that my Father has no intention of returning to His place in Heaven, there is so much fighting that I’m afraid will not be resolved any time soon.  But He did restore me, more than once.  And what she said has made sense; He returned when there were no more choices to make.  I believe my faith is…in a good place.”

“I’m proud of you Cas, and, you know, we’re here for you if you- -“

“ _Oh Sam fuck!”_ Delia screamed, causing both the angel and the hunter to look across the room.

“Well Sam is over there at the moment…but I’m here if you need me. Whatever you need.”

He hadn’t intended for it to come out quite like that, his voice that low, but the minute he said it he was struck by his own innuendo.  He should be mortified, his brother in the other room shaking the walls while he rutted away with the Holy friggin’ Spirit, but over that was the overwhelming thought that he had Cas alone in his motel room for the night and he was going to stay.  Then his mind flashed back to the last time they’d been in this circumstance, how Cas had fled when Dean had…

“Ummm…Cas, listen, if you want to leave or something I understand.”

“Why would I leave Dean?”  This was really not a conversation he wanted to have.  Dean decided just to let it drop.  He flicked on the TV, cranking the volume, not that it helped much.  He was blushing, his skin warm from pointedly not listening to his brother and defiantly not wondering what Cas thought about the act going on feet away.  Dean found a show he might like, then immediately tuned out. The angel was close enough that his whole left side felt him without touching, a warm pulsing presence. And the scent of him too was becoming a distraction, that ozone and new rain, so clean.  With a piercing duet of cries, there was a concluding stillness that came from the other room.

“Jeez, finally!”  Cas looked at him slanted again.

“You are pleased Sam has had sex?”  Dean shifted uncomfortably.

“What, no?!  Well, yeah I guess, considering the last girl he was with was that bitch Ruby.  So I guess this is a step in the right direction, but I mean it’s finally _over_.”  Dean sunk into silence for a minute, ready to appreciate the fact that the embarrassing part was over.  But the blush didn’t leave, in fact, the longer he sat there the more it dawned on him that he wasn’t blushing at all.  His skin was warm all over, but it felt strange, almost alien.  He was tired and grumpy and a little drunk, so it was difficult to put a finger on just where it was coming from and why it felt familiar.   Just then Cas reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder in that stiff awkward way he had when trying to imitate human gestures. 

“You should get some rest then.  I am uncertain what Delia has planned for tomorrow.”  Dean tried to ignore the fact that the angel’s hand was almost flush with the mark he’d left on his shoulder.  That despite the awkward angle, the contact felt like it was burning a new print through his clothes.  Dean felt his muscles shift as they began to lean his body in.

_No!_

He shot up maybe a little too quickly.

“Yeah you’re right.  Umm…what are you going to do?” He moved over to the bed, pulling it a foot away from the wall just in case.

“I will be watching you sleep.”  The angel had settled himself into a position on the couch that accommodated his plans, facing the bed and focused with that otherworldly attention directed at Dean.

_Cas please don’t watch me.  I’ll never get to sleep._

“How about we not do that, just watch TV or something, I’ve had enough creepiness for one night.”  He gave a nervous laugh but didn’t look at Cas, just flopped down on the bed and pulled the covers up tight, despite the fact that the warmth from earlier seemed to be growing.

*

The minute Delia had touched him, Castiel knew she had changed something profound in him.  He couldn’t be sure what exactly it was, but his grace recognized a change in his makeup, whether it was to his human vessel or his celestial form he could not yet tell.  This should have worried him greatly, but having touched Delia’s… being, the purest, most powerful thing he had ever encountered next to his Father, he knew that whatever she’d done would not bring him to harm.  It had been the closest thing to being in his Father’s presence he’d ever felt.  But it was his inability to mark and name this change that was making him uneasy.  He split his time between examining the sensation and watching his human twist and roll in his sleep.  He’d watched Dean sleep on a number of occasions, most without his knowledge and all with the intention of monitoring his frequent nightmares of his time in Hell.  Tonight when Dean began to whimper and toss, throwing the covers to the floor in the process, Cas had moved to his side, prepared to smooth away the nightmares with a touch.  But then Dean had arched his back and hissed a _yesss_ that informed the angel these were anything but unpleasant thoughts.

 And then…that new sensation within him brightened and Castiel found that he was in Dean’s dream.  His first instinct was of panic, he hadn’t meant to be here, how had this happened?  He tried to remove himself from the human’s unconscious but found he was stuck.  He looked around for help he knew wasn’t there.  He was on a long highway stretching out into the distance in both directions with nothing but trees on either side.  The only thing that stood out from the landscape was the Impala, parked off to the side of the road and swaying gently.  It was the only option, Dean would be in there, he knew it, and Castiel had to wake him in order to escape.  But as he approached the car, a hot familiar tightness in his groin told him what he was going to see. 

Through the rapidly fogging windows, Castiel could see two figures in the front.  He moved around to the driver’s side.  There in the front seat was his twin, naked but for the blue necktie that was being used to bind his hands to the steering wheel.  Beneath his—his twin’s – bouncing ass was a grunting, straining hunter, still clothed but for the exposed lap, jeans pushed to his knees.  One of Dean’s arms was wrapped around the angel’s waist, the other was wound up the front to grip the angel’s shoulder, using the leverage to force the angel down on his cock with each thrust up.  The human’s mouth was sucking a chain of bruising kisses along the back of the angel’s neck, the line of his shoulder.  They didn’t have much room, but Dean was making good use of his position, pounding shallow and fierce into the angel, who cried out each time.  Castiel hesitated, he didn’t really know the etiquette for this sort of situation.  Should he let the dream run out in its own time?  But the fact that something had put him here, against his will, strengthened his resolve that he needed to leave immediately.  What if whatever this was should hurt Dean? 

He leaned, knocked on the window.  “Dean.”  But his twin echoed the name. “ _Dean”_.

The hunter just gritted out with each thrust.

“U _gnh! Yes! Cas!”_   His own twin gripped the wheel under his restraints and threw his head back on the hunter’s shoulder.

“Dean.” He tried again with more force. “ _Dean_!” Came the other angel’s reply.  Castiel pulled open the door.  “Dean I need to talk to you.”  His human was licking and nibbling on the shell of his double’s ear.

“Dean _talk_ to me!” The other angel cried.

“You shut up.” Castiel said in irritation. “Dean this is wrong, something here is wrong. I shouldn’t be here. You have to wake up.” The two figures totally ignored him.

“Dean this is _wrong_ , I shouldn’t be here…”  And the way the other Castiel moaned out those words gave them an entirely new meaning.  Anger flooded Castiel as he stood there watching, scowling at them, shadows in the subconscious of a human mind.  He saw the anger for what it was, though it was difficult to justify.  He was jealous.  Again, like he’d been with that human woman, but this was worse, for none of this was real and he envied _himself_.  He hated this other Castiel fiercely because it wasn’t him, because Dean would never do these things to him in real life.  He was taking pleasure in a false image, pouring his passion and his needs upon it while Castiel was forced to watch, never to have a measure of the satisfaction the human could get from such things.  He lashed out, striking at the angel in Dean’s arms and watching with smug relief when the image dissolved into smoke.  The human cried out in shock and looked around desperately.   It was only then that this Dean noticed Castiel standing in the open door. 

“Dean you need to wake up, I’m trapped in _huhh_ —“  Castiel found himself yanked in through the door and thrown on his back to the front seat.  Dean was on him instantly, grappling with Castiel’s clothes and getting frustrated with the limited space preventing their quick removal.

“Off, Cas!  Get these fucking things off!”  Castiel did his best to defend the integrity of his clothes, but he found his angelic strength had not translated in the dream and he was having difficulty with a set of hands that seemed to be everywhere and very determined.   Cas was about to protest when the human’s hot mouth found his neck and began a ravaging path across the exposed skin.  He couldn’t help it, Castiel let out a low growl and for half a second, one thought alone stood out starkly in his mind. 

_Let him._

But he couldn’t. “Dean please you have to wake up, this isn’t real!”  The lips were moving across his jaw now, sending bolts of pleasure shooting down his spine.  If this Dean made it to his lips, kissed him, Castiel knew he would be lost. “Dean you can’t, this is all in your head!  You have to wake up, _please_!”  And the torment of Dean’s mouth stopped, and Castiel felt a new torment of neglect.

“Why are you doing this to me Cas?”  And the look that came over his human’s face spoke of more than just frustration. “Why _you_ Cas?  _Why you_?”

The world went grey, and Castiel was back in the motel, sitting on the bed as the hunter began to rouse.  The angel flew to the couch in an instant and pretended to watch the show flickering on the screen.

*

Dawn couldn’t come soon enough.  Dean had woke in confusion with the hammering pain of his erection robbing him of awareness.  His first instinct was to reach down, wrap a shaking fist around himself and take away the ache.  But when he turned to make sure Sam was still asleep, he saw an empty bed, and a very wide awake angel staring intently at the television.  And then it hit him, he’d dreamed about Cas.  A very erotic dream that he was having trouble recalling the specifics of.  He looked over at Cas and felt sick.  Something was nagging at the corners of his mind, but it was forced to compete with the throbbing in his gut that was completely fixated on the angel.  That’s when the gymnastic team next door decided to start another routine.

“Fuck, _again_?  Really?  What time is it Cas, why isn’t there a friggin’ clock in this room?”

Cas didn’t look up from the program.  “It is exactly 4:12am.”  He finally met the hunter’s eyes with that curious stare. “I have been thinking. It would seem you were unsuccessful, when you said in the past that you wouldn’t let me die a virgin.  Technically I did die.”

Dean’s breath caught and his mind went blank.  When his awareness returned, he was already up, out of bed and heading straight for Cas.

_Dean_!

Those wide, questioning eyes were on him, and he managed to pull himself together at the last second, cover his intent with grabbing his clothes, jamming them on, grabbing his keys and heading for the door. “Gotta get out of here.” He mumbled more to himself before he was gone.

Peeling out of the parking lot, Dean made it less than a mile before he had to pull over.  His hands were on himself before the engine had completely died and it was over in an instant.  Just a short litany of _Cas Cas Cas_ was all it took. The engine was still hot and his skin was still on fire when he realized it wasn’t over and he brought himself to finish again.  Not even as a teenager had he gone twice in a row.  When the burning began to cool a little, he looked around at his situation in complete self-loathing.  The urge to punch something was overwhelming, but there was only his baby and he wouldn’t do that to her, so he settled for slamming a hand into the steering wheel and leaning back to stare at the roof.

_Dean, man, what the hell is happening to you?_

Negotiating his feelings had been something Dean spent so many years of his life avoiding that he was ill prepared now as he tried, and failed, to put what he wanted to call this ‘insanity’ in order.  There had been so much time, years of encounters, of looks and small touches and sacrifice and betrayals, it was impossible to sort through it all and come up with a moment when this had really begun.  Had he always felt like this about Cas?  Was he turning gay, could that happen when a man got older, like allergies?  Had he ever met another man that did this to him, had he ever secretly been curious?  Clear cold honesty, he allowed it now, alone in his thoughts. But he couldn’t come up with a single instance before that might have led to this.  It was only Cas.  Maybe it was that night in the barn after all, when he’d first met the angel. He’d encountered things out of nightmares, killed every manner of beast and spook ever whispered about over a campfire, and this looked like more of the same until that one moment that stuck out at him over time, clear and biting as ice. Cas had leaned in too close, given him that look Dean now knew so well and said _You don’t believe you deserve to be saved_ with such sad interest.  It had gone down to his marrow, that whatever it was standing in front of him was different because it _knew_ , and worse yet, Dean had felt at the time though had since pushed aside, he _wanted_ this thing to know.

Dean took a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel in order to psych himself up for the return trip, when the action sparked a memory and he suddenly recalled another set of hands doing the same thing on the wheel.  The dream returned all at once, every detail and the reaction from his groin was immediate.

“No!” he yelled at his crotch, as if he’d ever been successful getting that thing to obey. He was about to give in when he remembered Cas’ words. _This isn’t real.  It’s all in your head.  Wake up Dean._ Dammit, his own subconscious was trying to make him see reason!  Wake up Dean, you stupid asshole, this can’t happen. So he thought of Bobby in his skivvies and movies starring Jennifer Aniston until he got a handle on things and could safely return without embarrassing himself.  But when he finally parked outside of the motel, it took another fifteen minutes before he managed to leave the car.  The burning was back, radiating from his core and licking up and down his limbs, but somehow it felt like walking into that room, with Cas right there, was exactly like walking into an even hotter furnace.

*

Delia’s plan, it turned out, was to go back.  Not to the exact place they’d found her, but to a spot a little to the west, barely recognizable as a town called Jefferson Creek.  Sam and Dean had had their share of awkward car rides before, had nearly crossed the country in angry silence after some fight or another, but nothing held a candle to that brutal few hours on the road.  This should have been a cakewalk for Dean, his brother limping gingerly to the Impala, sunglasses on, growling about coffee, it would normally be the perfect opportunity to rip into him about the night before.  

“Dude, just shut up forever.”  Had been Sam’s only warning before carefully lowering himself into the front seat with a grunt and a wince.  Dean just gave him his best shit eating grin out of a sense of brotherly duty and to hide the fact that he was hating life just as much right now.  Delia on the other hand was nothing but perky, bright eyed smiles.  She slipped into the back seat with Castiel and hummed a happy little tune like friggin’ Snow White all the way to the diner.  Once there, Sam had moved to the back, flopping down on the seat for a nap and mumbling something unintelligible before passing out.  Delia went ahead, picking out a booth and stretching her long legs out across the seat so that Dean was forced to sit next to the angel.  The heat flared immediately in the close quarters, but he found that if he didn’t look at Cas, stared only at the menu, Delia or really any other spot in the diner, it was somewhat manageable.

“You really think heading back there’s a good idea?  Seems like a real good way to get ourselves killed if any of those creeps were looking for you.”  Delia just shrugged and signaled the waitress for more coffee.

“They probably are, but that’s why I got you boys.  I think they were planning on keeping me chained as long as possible, long after Mikey and Luci’s slap fight, just to save their hides.  They know I don’t generally take well to kidnapping and torture, not without a safe word.”  Dean couldn’t help a small smile, Cas just looked confused.

“Why is it so important we return to the vicinity of your imprisonment now? Dean is right,you risk recapture in your current weakened condition.” She turned to Cas with a look of serene resolve and in that moment both men felt how very ancient this creature was.

“They saved me Castiel, the people of that town.  The angels and the demons have been moving my prison for ages now, because my power comes from them.”  She looked at Dean then swept an affectionate gaze over the patrons.  “If I am cut off from these children, I am lost.  I do not bless man only for his benefit, but for mine as well.  If I cannot reach them, hear their voices in my heart then I fade, I am dead without death.  But they got careless, their plans were coming along even faster than anticipated, and they’d had me for so very long they thought it was safe.  Jefferson Creek isn’t on a map because it isn’t recognized as a true town, those people just came and stayed and grew it into a place that was easy to ignore.  But I heard them.  I never stopped searching, even in my state, and I heard their voices.  They pulled me from the darkness, showed me their lives, their dreams, helped me orient myself to the time and ready for the day when I would be free.  If they had not been there, I would not be as you find me now.  I would be close to madness, unable to acclimate and I would have surely tried to kill you Castiel, and in their effort to protect you, I would have killed the brothers, too.”  The group sat silent a moment, each giving thanks that this had not been the case.

“So what are you gonna do when we get there, hand out door prizes like Oprah?”  The food had arrived so Dean and Delia took a moment to tuck in, Cas just watching her attentively.  She relaxed again into her casual cheerfulness.

“I’m going to bless them, all of them and their future generations, I’m going to consecrate the land and make it holy. And when I’m done I should be strong enough to kick down the pearly gates and headbutt the fucking bouncer.  I need a lot more of this.” She pointed at her dwindling plate of bacon.

Dean was the first back to the car. Castiel had pulled Delia aside for a moment to talk.

“Hey Sam wake up, that girl ‘inspired’ our waitress to give us breakfast on the house!  She even threw in some hippy food for you and coffee!”  Dean handed the bag and cup over the seat to Sam who’d only now managed an upright position.  “And look at this!”  He said shaking another white bag. “This if _filled_ with bacon.  Bacon Sammy!  So far, she’s giving you a run for your money on best shotgun partner ever.”

At that moment the back door popped open and Delia slid in next to Sam, giving him a peck on the cheek before settling in. Dean watched his brother’s blush in amusement before he turned, his smile fading when he realized what this meant, and when he met Cas’ face he saw the angel had registered his change of mood, his own face falling.  Now he felt even worse.  It was bad enough he had to sit next to Cas for the next few hours, tamping down the overwhelming things his proximity did to Dean’s whole body, but now the little feather duster had seen just how little he wanted to be near him in that expression. _Great_.  

 

Hour one saw Delia chattering away about everything and nothing at once.  It would have been too much for the brothers who were used to long stretches of silence on their drives but for her rather shockingly crass sense of humor and colorful use of language.  That made her ok in Dean’s book, and he was pretty sure Sam was doing fine back there with her leaning against him and occasionally playing with a lock of his hair. It was nice, he thought, Sam could use the attention.  Cas stayed silent for the most part, giving Delia monosyllabic answers to any of her questions and staring out the window.  Was he still painfully aware of how close Cas was sitting, even though the angel leaned against the far door? Absolutely. But it was more of an undercurrent, an annoying radio frequency that could be drown out by conversation and sound. This was fine, he could handle this.  Then some bitch on her cell phone nearly side swiped him and Dean had to pull hard into the other lane, causing all occupants to spill over.  Cas, taken off guard and without the aid of a seatbelt, because why would an angel need a seatbelt, caught himself against Dean’s hip and took a moment too long to remove his hand.  It was all over after that. 

Hour two saw Dean hunched over the steering wheel with a look of murder on his face as he tried and failed to will away the thoughts that were pummeling his brain.  Specifically about what he would do to the angel if they were alone in this car.

_Fuck Cas, the things I would do to you.  You’d be in worse shape than Sammy in half the time._

And he pictured it, in meticulous detail every whimper and expression and stroke, and cranked up the music till Sam was complaining, but all it did was create a rhythm for his imaginary thrusts. So he hunched over further so that the loose end of his shirt draped over his lap, hiding the furious erection that was threatening to split his jeans open. When they stopped at a rest station, Dean didn’t even hesitate.  The restroom was occupied for the next ten minutes and when Dean emerged he felt only barely sated and completely filthy.  Making his way back to the car he noticed Cas alone in the front seat and decided to wait for Sam and Delia.  Parked in the front of a gas station in full view of the world was still not enough of a deterrent.  Cas was safer in a crowd.  Delia had insisted on sitting in the back with Sam again, and no amount of cajoling could change her mind, so the ride became increasingly tense as everyone got a taste of Dean’s blackening mood.

Hour three was a white knuckle experiment in self-control. Even Hell hadn’t been so creative in their methods of torture. Dean had stripped off his jacket and flannel, making sure they pooled casually over his lap. God, _everything_ was on fire. He could feel each follicle of hair stand on end, feel the very lenses of his eyes contract and release and every single nerve felt like a live wire about to snap at the slightest touch. At first he’d turned on the AC full blast, but realized his mistake immediately when the scent of Castiel’s skin was effectively circulated throughout the whole car, so strong he could taste it. There was a rumble in his chest that confused him momentarily before he finally recognized it. He was _growling_. Thank god the music and air gave him cover before he stopped the sound.  Jesus, he felt predatory, and for a split second he imagined that this was what it must be like for some of the things they hunted.  Those poor bastards.

Dean opened the windows instead, Sam having enough sense of Dean’s mood not to protest as he helped roll down the ones in back. Castiel had been so lost in whatever angel thoughts were going on in his head he hadn’t heard Dean’s rather strained request.  Dean saw his hand move, knew absolutely what he was about to do and had not one fiber of resolve to stop himself. Reaching across Cas’ lap, Dean grabbed the handle and cranked the window open slowly, really much slower than anyone has ever rolled down a car window.  And each time the revolution reached the bottom he allowed his wrist to brush across those firm thighs. He’d just needed a touch, something solid to hold against the vapor of his fantasies, and hell maybe after doing it he’d snap out of it, feel the very noticeably _masculine_ thighs and regain his senses. But when he righted himself and looked over at Castiel he knew otherwise.

_You stupid son of a bitch._

They were going 80 on the highway now, and as the air funneled into the interior, it created a small, buffeting storm as it tore at everyone’s clothes and hair. Sam sunk down in his seat, looking for some cover but Delia seemed delighted, wiggling her fingers in the current and smiling. Castiel’s scent was dissipating, and Dean risked another glance at the angel.  This time his full attention was turned on Dean, locking the human in his sights.  The wind worried his coat and tie, causing the blue fabric to flap about his chest like an injured bird.  Castiel’s hair was being torn in every direction and he looked wild and strong, he looked every inch an immortal angel of the Lord that could crash the gates of Hell and rip a tattered soul from its clutches. And a soft explosion went off in Dean’s core, a smooth tautness that stretched out slow and rippled under his skin.  He had never felt something quite like this before and that ignorance kept him locked in the angel’s gaze through the crest of the sensation before he realized what was happening.

Holy fucking hell he was coming. 

_Right now_.

A slow burn of thick hot tension coating his insides without any physical stimulation. Dean turned his sights back to the road in horror, constricting every muscle he had to ride the orgasm out in still silence, fighting the urge to shut his eyes lest he kill them all. When the final thread gently snapped, Dean fell into the open, spent calm, took a deep breath and stole a quick look at Cas. The angel was slumped against the seat, head resting back on the bench, his eyes now shut. God Dean must have been shooting daggers at him, the poor guy must think he was mad at him or something because he looked frustrated.  His fists were clenched slightly, his mouth open just so as he took regulated breaths. Dean felt horrible, he was barely hanging on by a thread so he could only imagine how that must come across as to the angel who had only a partial grasp on human behavior under _normal_ circumstances. Fuck his lips looked so soft, and his cheeks had the stain of a light flush, he might be upset, but right now Dean could only think of how he might look something like this as he writhed under Dean’s touch. Godammit it was happening again!

“What’s wrong sugar?” Delia leaned over the seat and laid a light hand on his shoulder, which he promptly shrugged off but not before he noticed two things.  One, this building warmth that had been plaguing him doubled in strength, making him nearly blind with desire in an instant.  Two, this sensation was almost certainly coming from her.  Glaring at her in the rearview mirror he noticed her hand touch Cas’ shoulder as well and the guy, previously all but a statue before, curled in on himself just a little more.  That was the last straw, he could handle it if some holy bitch was messing with him, making him crazy with the hunger to defile an angel, but if she was messing with Cas in some way he would gank her right here.  He floored it, taking slight pleasure when she was knocked back on her ass. 

“What the hell Dean?” Sammy whined.

“We’re making a stop, I need to use the bathroom.”  He snarled, and didn’t notice how every drop of color drained from the angel’s face.


	6. Chapter 6

Lying in wait, he pounced on her in the back of the grocer’s market.  He had to be careful, this was one of those fruity health food places with nuts in barrels so he knew Sam was probably somewhere nearby dancing in the aisles.  He resisted the urge to grab her by the throat and settled for an arm.

“You better start talking lady cause I’m about two seconds away from calling Raphael and the gang down here so they can stick you back on the end of a spit.  What the hell did you do to me and my angel?”  She looked calmly down at his arm, then back to his face and smiled.  They were both aware she could break his hand off at the wrist even at half power but she didn’t move away.

“You know what I like about you?  You don’t even think about whether or not you can carry out all your threats, just have total faith that you’ll find a way if you want it enough.  Piss and vinegar, I once heard someone say.  It fits you, it’s what I look for.”

“Is this how you get your kicks, make people insane, make them feel things that aren’t real just so you can get a laugh?” He squeezed harder but she didn’t bat an eyelash.

“And that’s what you think, that I put these things inside you?  That I’m creating an illusion of emotion like some low level siren?  You need to get your own head out of your ass and look at the facts.”  And she did the very last thing he expected when she reached up and grabbed him by the neck, pulling him down into a firm and probing kiss.  He tried to pull away, it wasn’t unpleasant, it wasn’t anything at all.  After a moment she let him go and he dropped his grip on her arm in a panic to examine if anything else had changed in him.  “Look at me Dean, my vessel is smoking hot.  I can please anyone, but only if they _wish_ to be pleased by me.  I do not create things out of dust like my Father, I inspire, I direct.  I take what is within and shine a holy light upon it because most people with greatness are too stupid to recognize what is sitting in their own heart.”  He held her gaze for a moment, his anger hardening into something darker.

“So, what, this was your great blessing?  Make me realize I want to sleep with Cas?  Nice work, but you can shove it up your ass.  He’s an angel and he’s my friend and he deserves a hell of a lot more than some broke down human all hoped up on a holy aphrodisiac.” She laughed at him, then reached up to slap his cheek affectionately.  He guessed immediately she knew how much that would piss him off.

“Too late buttercup, and wrong to boot.  You would have come to _that_ conclusion on your own eventually, you were already on your way.  So go ahead and fuck Cas, if you think it will help. Take him to one of those swanky motels and grunt it out on top of him like he’s one of your classy barflies.”  She scowled at him now and something like little prickles of electricity danced along the skin of his arms, making the hair stand on end.  “And just so we’re clear, you are in no position to decide what Castiel deserves.  You don’t even know what _you_ deserve little human.”

“What did you do to him?” He couldn’t tell if it was fear or a threat that was making his voice a whisper.  She turned to go, throwing her answer over a retreating shoulder.

“Why don’t you ask him?  He’s already got you beat at figuring it out.  Smart little angel.”

*

For the remainder of the trip, Castiel sat huddled in the front seat, still and silent as if he’d been carved from stone, a graveyard angel.  When Dean had pulled into the strip mall, Castiel thought his heart might stop in anticipation of the things he would see.  But thankfully this time, nothing came.  It was getting worse, this brightness inside him that Delia had given him.  He had guessed as to the nature of his blessing, had confirmed as much with Delia at the diner.  A loss of control, she was letting him see inside of Dean each time the hunter thought of him without the need for an addressing prayer, and it appeared Dean was thinking of him almost constantly.  This would normally have given him great joy, but the increasingly graphic nature of these thoughts were agony.  He had promised the Holy Spirit he would stay, and he would keep that promise, but never before had he wanted to flee his human’s side more than he did now.  And it shamed him, for sitting next to the man he could feel the waves of unnatural heat pouring off his body and knew he must be suffering too. If he hadn’t known differently, he would have thought the human was afflicted with a fever, and he supposed in a way he was.  Castiel thought he understood why Delia had given _him_ this, she must have known how much he always wanted to know more of Dean’s thoughts and dreams.  But what he couldn’t understand, no matter how many miles passed by the window as he considered it heavily, was what exactly she was doing to benefit Dean.  The greater the brightness burned in him, the angrier and more sullen he became. In the few quick glances he stole when Dean wasn’t looking, Castiel could clearly see the hatred, the disgust which furrowed deeper into the lines of his face and he began to despair that once Dean had finished loathing every aspect of himself that harbored these thoughts, he would turn this hatred upon him.

Castiel had found that if he kept movement to a minimum, focused on his breathing and looked at the scenery of the landscape, he could pretend there wasn’t a near constant reel of imagery pairing himself and the human in every conceivable sexual situation and position flickering through his head. But when Dean had touched him, had sent him the sensation of his unexpected climax while looking him dead in the eyes, Castiel had to call on every molecule of his grace to keep him strong. His wanting was so brutal it felt like pieces of himself were being hacked off and jammed back into the wrong place so that nothing worked properly. His mind was screaming at him to _take him_ , _take him now_ , fly off to somewhere remote where no one would hear the screams he would take days dragging from the hunter.

It was exhausting, so when they finally reached a motel, the closest to their destination before nightfall, he had never been so relieved. 

The brothers got two rooms, Dean very pointedly picking up both his and Sam’s bags and taking them to one room after handing the other key to Delia. Castiel offered to spend the night patrolling the area, keeping watch for any signs someone might be looking for her.

“That’s so sweet, Castiel, thank you!”  And he had spent enough time around Dean to recognize mischievous sarcasm when he heard it.  Everyone retired to bed almost immediately, and Castiel was left to wander the barren concrete grounds, the scrubby grove of trees behind the motel.  It was blissfully silent, Dean was resting in a dreamless sleep and Castiel took deep cleansing breaths, his heart rate retuning to a normal rhythm for the first time in what felt like eons.  Sometime near midnight, Castiel heard a noise and sensed movement by the brother’s room.  He tensed like a cat and slipped through the ether to a shadowy spot facing the door, ready to attack.  But it was Sam, padding out as quietly as a man of his size could on bare feet to creep over to Delia’s room and slip into the already unlocked door.  He didn’t hear them, but he knew the moment Dean had when he felt the human’s mind stirring. Castiel moved fast, appearing at the hunter’s side so that his body wasn’t trapped outside when he was pulled into the dream.

This one was different than the others, for he felt no desire in it, only desperation.  The hunter was in a motel, running through halls, ripping open doors to puzzle box rooms that nested and opened to new chambers deeper and deeper inside.  And all the while he was calling Castiel’s name, chasing down the fleeting glimpses of the angel’s twin he caught in a window or the open frame of a door.  It went on like this for a long while until the hunter no longer seemed to be chasing but running, looking for a way out. Castiel was having trouble tracking him, trying to stay out of the way but still keep the human in sight.

_Cas help!  Cas please you have to get me out of here!  Cas!_

He couldn’t take it anymore.  He ran for the hunter, reaching him just as the dream broke.  Dean shot up in a panic, clutching Castiel’s wrist and going over his features with wild eyes.

“I’m here Dean, it is alright. You’re not dreaming anymore, this room is real.”  And as Dean’s breathing began to slow, reality dawned on his face.

“You—how did you know about the rooms?”  He stood without releasing his grip on Castiel’s wrist.

“I heard you…” He couldn’t lie to Dean, but prayed this answer would not lead him to the truth.

“I was talking?  In my sleep?” Castiel sighed and tried to pull away, but Dean wasn’t having it. 

“No, Dean.  I could see it.” Even with his ability to see clearly in such darkness, Castiel still couldn’t make out the emotion behind that expression.

“Do you…have you been going into my dreams lately?” The softness in his voice was heartbreaking. “Cas?”

“I’m sorry Dean, it has not been by choice.”  The hunter sank to the bed, but didn’t seem to be angry with him, much to Castiel’s relief.  He stood there watching as Dean leaned into his hands, rubbing his face and coming to some sort of decision.

“Delia?” And the half-cocked smile Dean offered hinted at his solution.  “So what’d she do to you?” It was said causally. No need to feel bad, this had all been Delia’s fault.  It was strange to Castiel, realizing in that moment what Dean was doing and feeling sadness at it.  He chastised himself for this selfishness; Dean didn’t want to dream of Castiel, was willing to forgive the angel’s intrusions if Delia had done something similarly uncomfortable to him. Yes, fine, anything you wish. His words rushed out in earnest before he could think.

“Yes Delia, I’m afraid she understands even less than I do the proper parameters for….friendship. I have always been curious as to your internal life, but I would never intrude Dean, please believe that. But she bent the rules somehow, forced my awareness of your thoughts of me even without the address of a prayer, pulling me into your dreams against my will. But I know what I’ve seen is not really you Dean, I know this.”  That was a mistake. Something he’d said set the gears going in Dean’s mind and his silence was painfully full.

“What do you mean the address of prayer?”  Dean was looking at him now with an intensity that unsettled him.  “Cas, what does that mean? Have you _heard_ me?”  The silence was enough of an answer. “We’re going to skip over the fact that you’ve had a front row seat to the carnival of porn that’s been spinning in my head these last few days, what I want to know is if  you’ve been able to hear my internal prayers before all this.”

 “Yes.”  It was almost a whisper. “And it’s more than your words. Every time you say my name, those thoughts become my own and all the attendant emotions.” Castiel felt sick, it felt like a betrayal somehow even though he’d only been trying to save his human from the unpleasantness of having such private thoughts known. “I’m so sorry Dean, I did not want you to feel ashamed and I—“

Dean catapulted off the bed and came right into Castiel’s space.  It _was_ disconcerting, he realized, when it was so unexpected.  Castiel stilled himself and lifted his chin, prepared for the blow that was sure to come.  If Dean needed to strike him, he was more than willing to allow it.

But it never came.  Instead Dean traced a finger along the worn edge of his lapel, watching the progress of his own hand, unable to look up.

“I’ve been thinking of you a lot Cas, are you saying you’ve…always been able to see it?”  Something was on the edge of breaking in the man and Castiel reached for anything that might save him.

“You couldn’t help it, Delia is very powerful and I do not think of you as—“

“Cas.” He sighed. “We both what I’m talking about.”

*

He should be begging for the sweet release of death, but the near clinical mortification Dean was feeling still couldn’t hold a candle to the riot of other emotions tearing through him.  Cas had heard him, from day one.  And not just heard him, seen it, felt it, every time he thought the angel’s name. He tried to think back to all the times he’d done it before Delia had cranked it to eleven, there were too many to count but he knew for certain the contents of most of them. Something other than his heart was pounding at the lining of his chest.  He had to know, had to see for himself.  So he locked eyes on his angel, making sure he stood under the full weight of that stare before reaching out.

_Cas…Delia didn’t make me want you, she just made it impossible for me to deny it anymore._

Those deep blue eyes went wide.

“Fuck Cas, the things I’ve been imagining….and you’ve seen all of that.”  Now it was Dean’s turn to drop his eyes, his hands falling limp at his side.  You don’t deserve that, he wanted to say, Cas was the only person to ever have complete faith in him, he had given him so much and now Dean had assaulted him with how much more he wanted to take.  But all he managed was, “I’m so sorry.”

“You want me.”  It was a statement more than a question and, god, in that voice.  Dean was shaking, and when those long fingers came up to trace the line of his jaw, brush slowly across his lips, he thought he might collapse.  “I would like to try kissing you.  It seemed very agreeable.”

With a ragged little cry, Dean surged up against him and pressed his lips to Cas’ own.  Softly, barely a touch.  He was on the bleeding edge of control.  What he wanted, what he needed more than air was to pin Cas against a hard surface and devastate him, but he couldn’t bear the thought of frightening his angel away.  So instead, he took Cas’ face in his hands and coaxed him into a deeper kiss, tongue unhurried and exploring.  He memorized every inch of that mouth, sucked at those full lips, sweeping his tongue inside to find and capture Cas’ own.  The angel responded with such eagerness, pulled and sucked and bit with growing fervor, Dean thought he might lose his fucking mind from the pleasure of it.

“God Cas, you taste so good.”  He breathed against him as he somehow managed to tear away from those lips to kiss along the pulse line of his throat.  When he reached the collar of the white dress shirt, Dean bit down, felt the shiver run through Cas, felt the vibration of his moan as it ran under his mouth, heard that sound he had been craving and knew immediately he needed more.  “You have to stop me Cas, I’m going to ruin everything.” He begged through his kiss even as his fingers worked open the buttons of his shirt.

“I don’t wish to stop you Dean,” Cas’ hands ran up Dean’s back, pressing until their bodies were fitted together perfectly. “I love you.”

Dean’s heart froze.  His breath, the world around him, froze.

_Cas no…_

He couldn’t have that, couldn’t let him do this.  They could have a night together, maybe more, but love meant Dean would lose him.  They would never let him have Cas, love meant the angel would have to fall, leave his family and home, or if not that, then their world would come up with some other sacrifice he’d have to make.  And he would do it, Dean was sure, but he couldn’t take that much, he didn’t deserve that much.  It was too big.

Dean kissed him, quick, desperate kisses between pleas for forgiveness as he muscled back hot tears.  _SorrysorryI’msorry_. The hands at his back clenched into the fabric of his shirt as the angel began to panic because this felt like goodbye.  Dean used every ounce of strength he had left to rip himself out of those arms, let himself take in the shock and sadness in that face that he had put there, grabbed his jacket and shoes without putting them on and fled out the door into the night.

*

Dean walked for hours before fatigue made him realize that he was cold without his coat and his feet were bruised since he’d never bothered to put on his shoes.  He paused long enough to slip both on, pull out his phone and leave a message for Sam, it was still early enough that he knew his brother would be asleep.  He kept it brief, something had come up, not to worry, finish up the job with Delia and Cas and he would talk to him soon.  Sam would be livid, he knew this, but the guy always did bitch and moan that Dean never really trusted him, so here you go big boy, trust you to finish up this bullshit mission.

He found a car to hot wire and drove south until the tank was empty, ditched it in a parking lot and repeated with another car.  He did this until he’d made it to Arizona then looked up to find he was about ready to pass out from lack of sleep and hunger.  The small ranch home with foreclosure signs and knee high grass would do.  Dean found a dusty corner, curled up with his head on his arm and fell asleep.  That’s when he realized sleep would be an enemy. 

The very minute he drifted into unconsciousness, Cas was there.  And he knew this was his Cas and not the fevered imaginings Delia had given him because that same look of hurt and shock was painted on his face. 

“Dean, we need to talk.  Tell me where you are.”  They stood in a non-place, a grey expanse filled with looming, shapeless shadows.  There was nowhere for Dean to go.  Cas was brilliantly beautiful, a corona of soft light outlining his figure, setting fire to his eyes.   Dean’s hands itched to touch him, felt himself reaching even as he backed away as if from a dangerous animal.

“Get the fuck outta my head Cas!  I don’t want you here!”  But the angel moved in closer.

“You know I don’t have a choice Dean, Delia is far more powerful than I am.  Every time you dream I am brought here, every time you think of me I will hear you.”  Dean looked around for a way out, began to strain and pull, anything to make his body wake up, but it was no use. Cas was closer now. “She may have put me here, but I can keep you here.  I will have an answer Dean, you will give me more than cowardice and disrespect.  I told you that I loved you, and I do.  I don’t need for you to return it, but I would hear you say that. I believe I merit that much.” 

The way out was right there, exactly what he needed to end it.  Just tell Cas, tell him you don’t love him, this was all just stupid, mixed-up human lust.  The words pricked his lips, but he couldn’t say them, they hurt more than all the rest of it. So he did what he knew best, tried to hurt back.  “You’re right, I’m a coward, ok?! But you knew what I was doing and you didn’t say anything!  You let me _pray_ to you the most—god Cas, why didn’t you just tell me so I could make it all stop?!” A look of shame darkened the angel’s features and he knew he had hit his mark.  It gave him no satisfaction. “Cas, you deserve so much more than me.  I mean, look at me, I can’t take any more from you, it isn’t right.  All I do is bring pain…”  _To the people I love._ Cas was inches away now, leaning in, taking Dean’s breath away with the anticipation.

“What makes you think,” he whispered darkly against the human’s lips. “That you get to decide how much I give… or what I deserve to have?” And just as he pressed into the kiss there was a blast of sound and Dean was ripped from sleep into wakefulness.  A car horn, right outside the house.  He was in a crumbling house, heart pounding furiously from the sudden noise and _not_ the fact that he could feel the aching loss of Cas’ touch.

He’d turned off his phone.  No point in listening to the thing ring at all hours. Dean came up with a working solution until a permanent one was found, wake up, get a new car, drive until he was falling down dead from exhaustion then find a place to crash and drink himself into oblivion.  Stay moving, have a destination, reach it, start again. Don’t think of Cas, or Sam or how long this can go on, just simple tasks that wear you down to the wires. Maybe then you can come up with some way to fix this. His higher reasoning was shot to shit with _want Cas want need have Cas_ , so shut it down. Deeper than instinct, cause that was gone too, give it over the reptile brain with its taste for fear and basic math. And those times when his mind was too alert, wasn’t hung over from booze or lack of sleep, Dean would do his level best not to think of his angel.  Without Cas near him, the thoughts, the fevered visions strung together in an unending sensation that thrummed ceaselessly beneath his skin but never changed pitch. He was almost able to ignore it now, most of the time. When the burn would surface and become too much to bear, Dean would turn to running, miles and miles sometimes, even pulling over to the side of the road and abandoning his current ride just to give his mind and body something else to focus on.  Sam would get a real kick out of this, he would think bitterly at those times, all this running he’d be healthier than Sammy. Perish the thought.  But it worked because he hated it, and hate was a familiar old friend.

It was breaking him down. The distance, the abuse. This was the most raw Dean had ever felt. There was a crack forming right at his center, and if he was stupid enough to poke it with a stick, he could hear a voice that might not actually be his own starved and battered innermost conscience, filtering in.

_What exactly are you fighting, sugar?_

_You’re a special brand of fucked up Dean Winchester._

_Ever break a wild horse? How do you teach it not to throw and bite?_

It was nearly two weeks before he turned on his phone again, and the sheer volume that lit up the screen almost made him shut it back down. 

“Jesus Dean, where the fuck are you? What happened?!”  Sam had obviously moved past anger to outright worry, Dean had the sense to feel guilty about that.  “Cas said you just took off but he won’t tell me why and he’s acting really strange and—“

“Strange how, is he ok?” He heard Sam’s frustrated huff over the line.

“No he’s not ok, he keeps popping in and out of here like a gopher, it’s getting really irritating.  Do you know he showed up in the bathroom while I was taking a shower just to ask which places you enjoyed visiting most as a child?  I think he’s looking for you Dean.”  He could just feel the disapproving look Sam had on his face right now, those ridiculous sad earnest eyes.

“Look, I’m really sorry man, I know I dropped the ball but I got some things that came up and I just got to handle them on my end for a bit.  I’ll call you next week, I promise.  Hey, how’d it go with Debby Does Jefferson Creek? “ At least he got Sam to laugh.

“It was…interesting.  I don’t think those people knew what hit them.  She just…you know what, I’ll tell you the whole story when you get back.  You are coming back…right?”  God he felt like a heel.

“Yeah Sammy, soon.  I’m uh…I’m in Oregon right now, gonna head down the coast.”  It was a lie, but he knew it would make his brother feel better.  “You just, take care.  And take care of Cas, too.”  He hung up just in time, hoping against hope Sam hadn’t heard his voice begin to crack.

*

Whatever methods Dean had been using were effective, but not 100% of the time.  There were no more dreams, which frustrated Castiel to no end for it was the only real way he had of communication.  He wouldn’t answer the phone and was lying to his brother.  Castiel was aware his increasingly irrational behavior was causing some measure of concern for the younger Winchester, so he thought it wise not to inform him that after a thorough search of the entire west coast, Dean was nowhere to be found.

Those first few days Sam had fretted that Dean might have come to some harm, and Castiel did what he could to assure him that Dean was ok, without going into too much detail as to how, exactly he knew.

He knew because, though Dean was making a concerted effort not to let his thoughts linger on the two of them together, Delia’s mark had burned too deep and no one can resist that pull all the time.  So he got flashes, blinding shots of desire and image and sound that struck him like a bolt and then were gone before he was able to turn his full attention on them.  It was worse in a way than the near continuous loop of shameless scenes he’d been forced to observe, for he could feel Dean fighting and knew it was costing him.  If he could only find him, speak to him, but really he had nothing more to say.  Castiel focused himself to the task of locating his human, all the while offering up his own silent prayer to the heavens. 

_God help Dean Winchester if I ever find him._

*

Three weeks later, somewhere in West Virginia, Dean was sitting on the back porch of another broken down house, just shy of a shack really, sipping his way through the first of his self-prescribed sleeping medication when something landed with a crash beside him.  The planks splintered and cracked, but it was the loud ‘ _TADAAAHH!’_ that sent the ducks and blue heron flapping to the sky.  He nearly launched himself out of the seat in shock, realized who it was, then launched himself at her in anger.  She was much quicker, merely twirled out of reach like a matador.  Dean considered another attack, but thought better of it when he saw how smugly Delia smiled at him. 

“How the fuck are you even standing here, I got this joint angel-proofed out.”  Which was plainly evident from the spray painted sigils covering the porch, the walls, the doors and windows.

“Wow are you ever slow on the uptake.  I told you, I’m not an angel sweetie, not even sexing cousins.  But those aren’t really for me are they?”  He scowled at her, wishing he had his gun just for the satisfaction it would give him to unload a few rounds into her chest. “You’re a stubborn thing aren’t you?  I love a guy that plays hard to get.”  She hopped up on the railing, swinging her legs and considering him for a moment.  “As much fun as it’s been watching the Dean Winchester Heartbreak and Alcoholism Summer Tour, I think it’s time we got to the good stuff, the real nut up or shut up final act.”

“You stay away from me, I don’t want anything more from you.”  He swept a hand at the lonely landscape. “Real bang up job with that blessing, this is the life I’ve always wanted, _thanks_.”  He didn’t even see her move, but she was on him in the next breath.

“Tell me Dean, what exactly do you want? And you’ll have to be _specific_ , I’m a bit of stickler for details.” He stuttered, gaping at the fierceness in those silver eyes he had only seen hints of, but was now focused entirely on him, through him. He could sense her raking those eyes through his soul and it was a feeling of terrible vulnerability.  Her hand found the hem of his shirt, slid cool fingers up the skin of his stomach to rest on his sternum.  Dean opened his mouth to protest, but the pain that shot through him at that spot took away the words.  He grabbed her wrist, pulled and twisted but it would have been of more use on a statue.  Just when he though the agony would make him black out, it began to fade until there was nothing left but a general sort of soreness.

“Wh-what was that?”

“Legal clause, cutie, to those sexy little carvings you got on your ribs. Now it states no angel may find you _except_ …”

“ _Fuck!”_

“That’s about the sum of it!  You can thank me later.  All aboard!” And when the world came back into focus, Dean was horrified.

“ _Bobby’s panic room?!  Why the hell did you bring me here_?” They were, in fact, now standing in the middle of the panic room as Dean eyed the open door.

“Why the hell are you whispering?  Sam and Bobby are in Ohio hunting something with too many teeth and a foot fetish.  They won’t be back for a while so if I were you…”  And she was gone.

He could never be sure later what happened first. That he thought, loud and clear and with no will of his own to stop, the name he’d been trying to bury for five weeks, or that the angel himself appeared in the door.


	7. Chapter 7

This was not awkward, endearing Cas that floundered with his cultural references and took everything way too literally.  This was Castiel, angelic soldier of a wrathful God making deliberate steps into the room.  Dean felt the air charge with his power, his anger and something more.  Cas had made an art form out of staring him down but this look, Dean had never seen the angel look at him this way and he felt like _prey_.  Dean backed up just as slowly, and when he took one step to his left in an attempt to circle out of reach, Cas raised a hand and twisted.  The iron door slammed shut, the sound of the rusting locks scrapping into place on the outside a statement of inevitability.

“Now Cas, wait, we can talk about this right? I mean—“  Cas was moving in on him again, herding Dean back against the far wall.

“Your opportunity to talk is through. You forget that I know you, Dean.  I know how incapable you are of using words to express what you are feeling.”  Dean was stopped by something hard against his thighs, risked a glance down to see the metal desk covered in shell casings and old papers.  He used his field skills to judge the distance between them and a rush to the left.  The odds weren’t good.  As if reading the calculations in his face, Castiel closed the rest of the distance, inches of space holding Dean in place as strongly as if by the angel’s own hands. “I think it’s time we try a less verbal form of communication.”

A moment suspended in time in the oppressive silence of a vacuum.  And then the levee broke.

Cas slammed Dean backwards across the desktop as Dean grabbed at the lapels of his coat and pulled the angel hard against his body.  Their kiss was brutal and unforgiving, Dean poured all the frustration, the desire that had been shoved down and denied, into it and Cas returned it two fold. It was anger, punishment for both of them, you took too long, waited waited alone for too long, it needed to hurt but neither was sure if this was repayment for past torment or acceptance of the sentence passed down by the other. Lips and tongues battled, twisted until Dean was nearly dizzy for lack of air.  He hadn’t even realized he’d been yanking at the shoulders of the trench coat until Cas pulled back to help him, shrugging out of it and the suit jacket.  The ferocity of the look Cas was giving him as he undressed undid something in Dean’s mind, there were no questions, no fear, only a clear recognition that a circuit had been grounded.  It was basic, going straight to his soul to fill in the space Famine had so clearly seen.

The coat and jacket had been thrown to the floor in lightning speed but still it was too long for Dean to wait. No sooner had they cleared the angel’s hands than Dean snaked out a hand to grip the blue tie, twine it once around his fist and yank as hard as he could.  Their lips collided and Dean could taste his own blood.  Cas was shoving the outer flannel off, but Dean didn’t want to let go to help, not with that mouth finally, finally against his, tightened his grip on the tie in a way that would have choked an ordinary human.  The angel allowed it for a moment, then reached up to grab hold of the collar of Dean’s tshirt and ripped down, splitting the fabric open and baring the hard muscle he’d been seeking.  The rending sound echoed back off the iron walls and knocked Dean out of the kiss to stare up at Cas, who was watching the rapid rise and fall of the man’s stomach, chest.  With a  few deft movement the remnants of Dean’s shirts were gone and Cas had a hand at the back of his neck, fingers like a vice pulling back so that he could latch a searing mouth at Dean’s throat and suck a hard bruise there before moving down.  Cas let his hands roam firm and quick over Dean’s torso, following with a mouth that bit and sucked and marked with exquisite pain all the places that sent Dean’s head spinning.  And he could do nothing in return but pant and gasp, the angel had pressed him back so his weight rested on his elbows as he splayed across the desk.  Castiel stood between Dean’s knees, availing himself of every last inch of chest, shoulder, neck and lips. Dean moaned something like the angel’s name, rocking his hips to find friction against Cas’ own throbbing sex.  Cas groaned at the contact then straightened suddenly, standing still as Dean looked over him wildly, unsure why it had stopped.

“Cas?” He wheezed out, propping up on his hands. Castiel just let the moment stretch out before reaching down to unbutton Dean’s jeans, slip long fingers under the waistband of his boxers and slide both off his hips.  Dean kicked out of his shoes and socks then let the jeans fall to the floor.  His erection rested pink and heavy on his stomach, twitching each time the angel’s eyes turned their attention to it. Dean’s heart was beating so hard Cas could hear it, he scanned over the naked form, seeking out all the places a pulse beat visibly under the skin and kept the locations in mind for later.  Right now there was something else that needed to be addressed.

“You _arrogant_ human, always thinking the rules apply only if you want them to.” Slim, patient fingers pulled at the knot in his tie, letting it fall, began to unbutton each button on his dress shirt so slowly, too slowly. “It’s _prayer_ , Dean.  Mankind figured out how it works before they even knew how to read.  Yet you, you just assume that because you’ve ordered me not to intrude on your thoughts and I’ve complied as your friend that this means you are no longer subject to a universal law.”  Dean sat up a little straighter, opened his mouth to protest but was silenced instantly with a look.  The white shirt fell and Castiel began the task of removing his pants as he spoke. “Did you never wonder why only the names of archangels were freely know to men?  It is because they do not listen to prayer Dean, but the remaining host of heaven, the lesser angels such as myself, take great pains to conceal their true names, because should a human have this, they only have to send it to the heavens. Spoken or unspoken, we will hear it and all the thoughts that follow.  All the images, all the sensations. It only ends when the prayer is over, and we are absolutely powerless to stop it.”  Dean hung his head, blushing furiously before realizing this angle put the angel’s own arousal in the line of his sight.  His breath hitched and he sat forward, reaching.  But Castiel was too fast for him, grabbed both wrists and whipped them around Dean’s back, pinning them there with one hand and pulling the hunter up against him.  The first taste of their burning skin pressed against each other felt to Dean like water to a parched man.  The angel had him sitting helpless, their cocks sliding against each other as Dean pulled to free himself and secretly loved his inability to do so.  He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted this man right now.

“You have no idea what you’ve been doing to me Dean.” Castiel purred as his other hand wrapped around Dean’s cock, brushing an unhurried thumb over the head. “But I’m going to show you.”

Despite the raging need inside of him, Castiel took his time, testing different strokes, speeds, as he worked Dean’s cock in his hand.  It was delicious, the heavy feel, the hot silken texture that he had so often imagined but been deprived of.  This was real, the mewling cries, the little stuttering moans when he squeezed just a little harder.  They were his now and Castiel was going to wring every last ounce of satisfaction out of those noises. Dean tried twice to buck his hips up, fuck harder into Cas’ hand, but the angel simply pulled the wrists in his grip back so Dean was once again leaning helpless on his elbows, brought one knee up to pin Dean’s hip hard to the table, preventing any further movement.  The hunter threw his head back at the delicious frustration, _yes this_ , and when he came up, Castiel’s face was barely an inch away, blue eyes blazing and letting Dean feel the denial of his kiss. Dean began to shudder and Castiel could tell he was close.  Cas brought Dean to the very edge then backed off, and the pathetic whimper that came from the hunter brought a delicate smile to Castiel’s lips.  Cas released him then, plunged his hands into the hunter’s short hair and brought him in for a rough kiss.  It drove Dean insane, now free to touch, his hands were everywhere over Cas’ body, wrapping his strong legs around the angel’s waist to hold him in place.

Dean had pictured everything about this man, every secret place for his mouth, every sigh, every possible way to find pleasure in his body. But it was all nothing more than bloodless shadow in the face of having him solid in his arms, letting his hands map the landscape of muscle and bone. The strangeness of it was that this didn’t feel strange, being with a man. He should be nervous, he knew what was coming but felt only electric anticipation. His only resentment the fact that they weren’t fucking _right now_.

“Do you trust me Dean?” And Dean could see from the strength of Cas’look what this means. Last chance. Say no and I’ll go, this stops no questions asked. Cas would give him that, which is why he does trust him. He trusts Cas more than his own family, more than himself and if a gate to Hell were to open up at their feet it still couldn’t stop him right now. But he can’t push those words through the chaos of his needs so all he manages is a wide-eyed nod. Strong hands slide under his thighs to grip the curves of his ass, Dean is lifted as if he weighed nothing, spun in the air and dropped unceremoniously onto the musty cot in the center of the room. Before the old springs even have a chance to adjust to their weight, Castiel devours Dean’s cock in one motion, driving that pulsing thickness deeper than anything Dean’s ever experienced.

“Motherfucker!” Dean screams at the shock of it, unable to stop himself bucking hard, but Castiel doesn’t need such consideration, doesn’t want it. He takes it, suck up the length and slams down again. He does the opposite of every blowjob Dean’s ever gotten, Cas furiously fucking Dean’s cock with his mouth until the human is convulsing and sweating and screaming newly invented curses at the ceiling, racing violently to climax though they’d barely even started. And when the pace has him teetering on the edge again, Cas pops off, begins to lick swirling patterns up the underside, following the veins to circle and tease at the now purple head. He drags soft nails over Dean’s balls, squeezing lightly before taking one than the other in his mouth to roll on his tongue while his fingers close in a tight ring at the base. Dean has Cas’ hair in a death grip, he wants to push that heavenly mouth back down and stop the torture of his gradually slowing pace, but he knows what this game is and that he has no hope of winning. This doesn’t stop him from begging though.

“Cas I—ahhh— _fuck_ Cas you’re killing m- Jesus fuck _pleasepleaseplease_!” Castiel just turns those penetrating blue eyes on him, lids hooded, and licks long and slow from base to crown while Dean watches transfixed.  It’s goddamned pornographic. And Dean shudders hard at the sight because this alone was going to push him past all control. “Dammit Cas, how do you even know how to do that?”

There is a low rumble of a laugh, sinful and humid, as Castiel crawls up the length of Dean’s body, arching against him in the most feline way, and fucking hell how had Dean never known this part of Cas was in there?

“I have been,” Cas is kissing up the taut stomach, the heaving chest, sucking and nipping at first one then the other nipple, sending small shockwaves of pleasure down Dean’s spine. “ _very thoroughly_ instructed in all the ways I could please you.  And I plan to use every bit of it against you.” He is looming over Dean now, draped across him in an infuriating way that presses so much of them together except the one area that’s begging for contact. Cas props himself on his left elbow, letting his free hand roam, as Dean’s are, over the span of burning skin.

“You’re an evil bastard. You know that Cas?” This gets him another laugh and a pair of strong hands flipping him over on his stomach. Castiel pins his hips to the mattress and slowly ruts the length of his cock in the cleft of Dean’s ass. Lips at his ear brush and breathe.

“I will be considerate that this is your first time, but you should know that I am going to fuck you, Dean Winchester, and I plan on ruining you for anyone else.” Dean shudders violently, _all of this_ , yes and yes. A firm hand presses up the length of his spine to slide fingers into Dean’s hair, squeezing tight just on the edge of pain and pulling back slow enough that he can feel how helpless his is. Oh fuck, just like that, needles in his scalp and teeth at his neck, bruises that can be counted in a pretty row. Lips moving down, licking the sweat from the valley of his spine till Cas shifts quicker than thought, brutal fingers grip the handle of his hip bones and yank him back on his knees. And Dean didn’t know what to expect but it wasn’t the spear of a tongue breaching him, wet and perfect and not enough, he cries out from hard pads of fingers digging into muscle and the aching sweetness of that tongue lapping and teasing him open. His thighs burn and shake and just a little more and he could come. Just more and deeper and too much.

A craving Castiel had only guessed at is being fed and tamed with every stroke of his tongue. It’s earth and salt and human and _Dean_. The crinkled velvet ring of pink that constricts around him, pulling him deeper, pushing and fluttering and he needs to know, right now, what that slick vice will feel like dragging along his cock. But not yet, he has a mission, sweet, begging revenge and he will have Dean mindless and shaking beneath him. But God the taste of him, it’s heady and filthy and the inverse of the pristine intimacies angels enjoyed, so Cas keeps going, longer than Dean can stand but this is for his own pleasure and finally he won’t be denied. And Dean is making _beautiful_ noises, ragged, wordless swirling together until it is nothing but desperate sobbing without tears.

Dean is undone by the release that is right there, blooming hotter in his belly but never enough, pushed to an edge that keeps shifting away. It’s too soft, agony of too little pressure, just build and build until his mind shuts down completely because there will never be an end. He’s only vaguely aware that Cas has yanked him up, moved him so that he must prop his own weight on the metal frame of the headboard. Castiel is at his back, one arm around his waist, knees pressing open Dean’s own. A kiss, twisted over Dean’s shoulder at an insufficient angle, but the taste of himself on the other man’s tongue is hotter than it has any right to be and he tries to turn around for more but Cas pulls back. Two of the angel’s fingers push into his mouth and Dean moans around them, sloping wet saliva with a curling tongue. Then one wet finger is at his hole, the sound he makes as it slides in swallowed with Castiel’s mouth. This isn’t new for Dean, and the angel knows this so another finger follows almost immediately and the burn at the surprise stretch is _everything, everything_. Did those prayers give him a chart? Plot a direct course, full sail, right to his greedy little prostrate? Or was it a memory of the work putting piece upon piece of his flesh back to wholeness that Castiel used now because that ruinous bastard knew exactly where to strike and did so without mercy _. One, two three and fuck you straight to hell_ cause now there was the knowing clamp of a ring of fingers cutting off any hope Dean had of coming.

“Cas please you gotta- _nghh_!” Another finger working him open just a little too rough, but the angel has to know by now that’s just what Dean needs. A pulse of cool air, then Cas is back and the little click of the bottle cap tells Dean just where he went. _Finally_. He’s primed, every nerve singing and a solid plan of action plotted out in his head, he needs Cas inside him yesterday and once he gets it Dean plans on fucking back onto that angel with everything he’s got. If he was going to be a bottom, then damnit Dean Winchester was going to be a power bottom. But he doesn’t get the blunt head of a cock, just the incline of Cas’ fingers dripping more and more lube inside of him, stretching, curling, twisting with the newer slicker viscosity. He was trying to kill him, that had to be it.

“Cas man, I’m ready, come on!” This just gets him a smart slap on his ass with a sticky hand.

“Oh are you now?” The vibrato is at his hear, in his head, hardwired to Dean’s cock that can only weep and plead its case with an angrier shade of red. Cas reaches beneath him to grab an opposing wrist and pull at the same time he sweeps Dean’s knees out from under him. He’s flipped on his back, and well shit yes please. Who knew Dean liked being manhandled this much? On his back, one knee hitched up in Castiel’s hand and the son of a bitch is just rutting lazy circles against Dean’s needy hole. “Tell me Dean, tell me you want this.”

“Yes you jerk I think we’ve established I want this.”

“For once Dean, just say it.” And that was it, wasn’t it, not for Cas, it was for Dean.

“Cas,” his voice shaky with need and awe, “I want you, fuck, so much. I want you inside of me, right now, tomorrow, all the time. I always did, I—“ and Castiel takes the rest of his words away as he slides in, slow but unstopping until he’s bottomed out, clutching a trembling Dean tightly in his arms. It’s not the pain, that just makes it better, real. He’s split open and it’s Cas. And the bitch of it is, the moment Castiel kisses him, Dean comes. Hard and shocking with the angel still seated unmoving inside him. Something had broken open in Dean and his body responded. Arching in the binding of arms and legs, Dean rides it out with a scream and before he’s even come down Cas is moving in him, slow at first, then picking up speed with a pace that has Dean’s cock making a valiant effort barely a second after he’s come. For a moment he can’t even respond, zapped of all will to move Dean just feels his body rock and thrust pliantly under the force of Cas’ hips pounding into him. Then he hits Dean’s prostrate and with a shout he’s back in the game. Heels dug into the thin mattress, hips canted up, fingers clawing and digging at the angel’s shoulders, arms, looking for the right grip to leverage up and give back as hard as he’s getting. This time when he comes he pulls Cas along with him, the raw, shocked, _human_ sounding shout of his angel’s ecstasy the single most perfect sound Dean has ever known.

They collapse, and Cas breaths heavy on top of him, more from the indulgence of the body than the real need to do so. Dean is somewhere overhead, floating through the hum of his orgasm. He runs a lazy possessive hand up Cas’ back, through his hair, over the delicious curve of his ass. He wants to feel it next time, cup both hands around those tight curves and feel them flex as his angel fucks into him slow. He’s too tired for a proper shiver at the thought, just a little tremor down his central fault. Castiel makes a small humming noise and kisses at his chest. Kisses slow but earnest, the swirl of a nautilus radiating out, catching a dusky nipple in his path, adding teeth, adding suction and scrapping tongue and the full complement of hands.

“Hey tiger, not that I don’t appreciate the enthusiasm, but you gotta give me a minute or twenty.” Cas pops off the patch of skin he’s sucked into a purple bloom, admiring his work.

“No I don’t” And before Dean can start in sardonic about the recovery rate for thirty year old men, Castiel cups a hand over his groin. A pulse of heat that is also strangely cooling and something feels different. Dean leavers himself up to his elbows to stare at his own crotch.

“Did you just mojo my balls?” His own dick answers first. Castiel hums his accent into Dean’s neck.

“I’ve shortened your refractory time as well as repaired a minor fissure to your rectal wall.” Dean scrunches up a face.

“Cas, man, please don’t ever use the word rectal when you’re talking about sex. Or really at any time.”

“I haven’t healed everything. I plan on leaving my marks, and for efficiency’s sake I believe it’s best to keep you stretched out. We have quite a lot of work ahead of us.”

“Work?” And fuck if the smirk on his face didn’t make it to his voice, which came out with a tremble and more than a little concerned.

“Your repayment.” His mouth is back to task against the shivering stretch of Dean’s skin, words traded with kisses and the discovery of new, unclaimed patches for his mark. “For each and every one of those prayers you sent me that left me wanting and empty, I’m going to fill you with my cock and make you come, more than once each time if I can manage it.”

 

It was a funny thing to find his mind split in two. Dean never gave much weight to all that higher consciousness bullshit, but kneeling as he is in Castiel’s lap, back slipping slick against the other man’s chest as he’s bounced up and down by a pair of arms that never seems to tire or falter in their command, he’s able to both throw himself fully into the terrible, brutal sensations scraping over his too raw nerves and give proper consideration to the little things. Like attempting an educated guess at what time it was. If Delia had found him sunset Eastern Standard Time…and then the time difference in South Dakota plus that one time he blacked out….and it’s daylight now, but overcast? Or early dawn? He’d long ago stopped trying to count the number of times they’d fucked, or could this even be considered in numbers? It was more like one long unending morass of sensation and orgasm with only the changes in position or Cas’ angelic jumpstarts to indicate an end or beginning.

He flexed his wrists, tied as they were to the bed frame with Cas’ blue tie. He’d seemed particularly pleased with that one and Dean had tried to argue but found it difficult when his mind and body were both still recovering from another round of coming so hard he thought he’d sprained something. Cas had kissed him all over, then rolled off to rummage through the discarded piles of clothes. The minute he pulled out the tie, Dean squirmed.

“I never really gave much consideration to other ways this piece of clothing might be used, thank you for that Dean.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! You can’t honestly hold my _dreams_ against me! I was asleep!” But Cas was already pulling him to sitting, moving him into position on his knees and wrapping the fabric simply but securely in place. Dean didn’t have full control of his muscles to do anything but let him.

“I wasn’t.” As if that was enough of a trump.

Castiel slotted himself behind Dean, running hands up his sides to find both nipples and pinch them roughly. It had Dean gasping and arching back into his angel’s body, which must have been the plan because as he came back down those hands guided him surely straight down onto Cas’ cock. Now he was gasping from being so suddenly filled. It didn’t matter how much they did this, didn’t matter that he was sore and aching and just wanted to collapse, that feeling of being stretched, filled, split on Cas, with Cas’ mouth against his skin and Cas’ hands holding, bruising, caressing was maddeningly perfect. He would take this punishment, or making up for lost time, or repayment or whatever it was, didn’t fucking matter anymore because the ecstasy went beyond the physical, it was completion. It was always going to be Cas from now on, difficult, innocent, perfect for him Cas.

The tie is cutting red stripes into his wrists so Dean twists them to make them go deeper, grinding out a _fuck me Cas_ that he only realizes has gone unspoken when the sound of his own cries don’t stop. His angel’s thrusts stutter, well this could be interesting. Dean picks up his cries, gasps, sobs, really letting loose until the echoes fold into a dozen voices all desperate and depraved and at the same time he focuses his mind on praying Cas into insanity.

_Cas Cas Cas yes fuck me like that harder I want to feel you for days every day don’t ever want to go a minute without feeling you god it hurts so good only you and that perfect cock take me take what’s yours fuck—_

Castiel loses his goddamned mind. Dean had never realized he needed to fuck as hard as he fought with twice the bruises until Cas is taking him so hard he comes twice in a row and nearly cracks his head on the bed frame from the force of it. But his angel holds him fast until he too is screaming, coming violently, biting an imprint of every tooth into the skin at his shoulder blade. This time when Cas heaves deep breaths at his back, it’s for real. He takes a moment to collect before gently untying Dean’s hands, pulling him down to rest on his back, smoothing hands over the sweat and saliva. Rubbing at the marks he could heal but won’t.

“Like that, did you?” And it’s a wonder Dean can even speak.

“Next time I would like to hear such prayers from you while I fuck your mouth.” Dean groans.

“I’ve created a monster. A hot, kinky monster.” And they both manage a weak laugh before the sound of footfalls patter in from the airshaft above them.

“Bobby, you take the back, I’ll clear the front.” It’s Sam.

Shit it’s Sam. They must be back, he can hear them clear enough that they have to be standing pretty close to the hidden vent. Fuck! They must have heard him…them. Dean curses, nothing but screaming has been broadcast for the last five minutes so he can only imagine what they must think is going on.

Dean jumps up to grab his clothes, sways as a wave of dizziness hits him hard and only manages to pull on his boxers before the sound of boards settling tells him they’re in the house.

“Cas just…stay here, or zap away somewhere! I’ll handle them.” And he doesn’t check to see if Cas listened as he staggers up the stairs.

It’s hard work, making progress on the time warped cellar stairs with muscles of jello and nerves unmoored, instructions no longer making it to their intended corners. He feels like he’s run a marathon and his ass would just like to take a moment to remind everyone that’s just exactly what it’s done. He’s already prepared for the barrel that lines up with his eyebrows, the click of another hammer a scant yard behind him. His unhurried drag makes it two steps before he has to lean against the wall.

“Dean!” The gun is lowered now with the purposeful hiss of his brother’s voice. Too large hands try to catch a body that’s not falling, get batted away because, though right now it looks like he’s been chewed up by a pack of werewolves, mosaic of bruises, red lines of phantom bonds on his wrists, scuffed knees, raw lips, sweat matted and heaving, Dean needs to diffuse the hunters first.  “Tell us what it was, is it in the house?” Bobby hasn’t lowered his gun, just given Dean a once over then turned to cover their flank.

“No there’s no….there’s nothing here it’s fine.”

“Where’s Cas? Is he ok? What happened?” Perfect.

“Cas? I don’t….”

“We heard ‘im boy, two o’ you hollering bloody murder. Looks like somebody got the drop on you.”

_Right to my knees._

“I’m fine, he’s fine, there’s nothing…you don’t need to worry he’s probably gone and it’s fine.” Dean attempts unhurried swagger on his way to the kitchen, gets stilted jerking limbs careening him in the general direction. He doesn’t see their wary expressions, never easy for a hunter to lower guard once the hackles go up, but by the time they join him both men have relaxed a bit, willing to believe if Dean was insisting. But seeing Dean at the sink, pounding a glass of water down a gulping throat, turn and fill another glass to follow puts them right back on edge.

“Something _bit_ you Dean! You’re bitten, what was it?! Bobby grab my bag we need to test him!”

“No!” Dean croaks as the last swallow makes it past his clenching throat. “No, don’t worry Sam I’m ok it’s nothing we’ll talk later.” Bobby’s looking him over more careful now but Sam is having none of it.

“Dean you have been acting like psycho for days, drop off the face of the earth in the middle of a job with no explanation and then show up dragging yourself half dead out of the panic room after we both heard you screaming! We are talking about this now, right here!” He’s got his Great Wall of Indignation built up tight, any other day he could have shouldered his way out of the room with a _bitch_ thrown over a shoulder, but not today. How did he even begin?

“HA!” And the brothers have identical looks of confusion as they turn to regard Bobby where he stands grinning and smug. “Bout godamned time boy.”

“What?” They say in unison, but for very different reasons.

“Sam you’re a smart kid but sometimes you’re as thick as molasses, put it together son.” And he tries, he really does, but the calculations in his head keep refusing to factor in all possibilities and the result always comes back wrong. Dean is brilliant red with the truth of Bobby’s realization, curling in smaller as if stillness could make the embarrassment fade.  “Just make sure you clean whatever you boys got into, I sleep down there in the summer some nights.”

Dean watched the lights go on, low dim confusion brightening as Sam relooks and relooks again at the constellation of purples, sweeps of red, sets of identically sized circles in a row down both hamstrings and the insides of Dean’s thighs. Jess used to get those when he….

“You and Castiel had sex!” Was it a question? It was said more like a fact, needing to be spoken before it could be true. For Dean there was only one option, square shoulders and face it head on like everything else.

“Yes.” And it came out with a half-smile that felt like pride, though he hadn’t been going for that. Seems his body felt pretty smug about the whole thing, might as well run with it. “We had sex.” Sam’s face is spasming so rapidly between expressions Dean wondered if he would land on triple sevens and quarters would come pouring out of his mouth. “And it was awesome.”

“No! Nonononono, you are not going tell me anything about—how did this happen?” This was turning out to be more fun than Dean had realized.

“Well, Sam, when two people are horny and they-“

“NO! Seriously, I mean- just he’s…your friend and he’s…” _A he._

“Oh please,” Bobby snorted. “I’ve seen those two boys eye-fuck each other for the better part of a minute every time they’re in the same room together. Now I don’t know about you, but that’s not something I’ve ever done with my friends.”

Dean grins wide, suddenly he feels great. Not physically, pretty much everything hurts, but it’s the good hurt, the kind he feels after a satisfying hunt with no serious injuries. Somewhere along the line the wires got a bit crossed and now full body pain like this just feels like a job well done. And he has never felt that after sex but always wanted to. It’s not an easy thing to find a one night stand who’ll want to get that rough without fear she’ll call the cops. But he can have that now, with Cas, with someone he trusts that will stick around and….

And maybe he won’t, maybe Dean had already fucked things up and this was a one-time deal. The thought was unbearable, that after all this it would be over. The room was getting smaller and his skin was too tight and suddenly he couldn’t stand being here without knowing one second longer. Without any attempt at an excuse, Dean took off down the hall and up the stairs as fast as his rubbery legs could carry him. In the bedroom, he closed the door and looked around.

“Cas?”

The air is soft and warm, lazy late morning light filtered in through the faded curtains, a few odd muffled sounds from the men downstairs, but the silence drags on. It sings a high pitch that bores through his skull and taunts him. So stupid, he’s been so stupid.

“Hello Dean.” The relief is too close to pain to be soothing. Dean whips around. It was heart clenching how beautiful he was. Dean had always seen beauty as a weakness, to want pretty things a frivolity that wasn’t in his nature. He liked sexy women, a few shades closer to trashy. Or hell if he was being honest, outright trashy. He liked the hot hard burn of cheap whiskey, the good old boy bang up of a fair fight, he liked chrome and salt and washing off the filth he’d got into with soap and hot water.

But Castiel is a beautiful he wants, wants with a fever that confuses him because it meets lust and then moves rapidly past it. He stands there still as always, only this time he is completely, gloriously naked. It feels like a luxury, to stand in each other’s presence with no other imperative but to look, to explore.  Dean lets himself take his time, as Cas would, sweeping his gaze over everything until there are a giddy new number of things he wants to touch, taste, memorize until he knows them blind. But then he remembers, as perfect as it would be to just move in and kiss and kiss again, let what they both want take over and remove all cause for words, he has to say something.

“Cas I’m sorry if…..” There’s supposed to be more, but he can’t put the pieces together right, letting the silence drag on enough to feel like closure.

“I understand, it was too much to hope you might feel the same. I was wrong to have pressed it. I hope you do not regret our intimacy.” And Cas’ eyes are downcast now, voice small and thin. “I know I won’t.” He’s going to leave, and Dean it’s now or never. He grabs the angel by both arms, shakes him till those eyes meet his own and punches the words through the glass of his chest.

“No you bastard! I need you! I’m an idiot and I’m sorry, and I’m sorry that I’ll probably keep being an idiot but I need you Cas and I don’t regret anything.” And fuck, the light that breaks over his face is the best thing he’s ever seen and he has to kiss it. He makes that his prayer, penance for all the words he’s just not good enough to say. Perfect little absolutions in the creases at his eyes and the curl of a plump lip, and when he finds a wet track on the plane of a cheek he kisses that with the slowness of a pledge.

Dean lays him out on the bed, discarding his boxers and taking a moment to just stand over his lover, willing and serene on the simple quilt. Dean had spent part of his childhood in this room, and any previous grief of youth had been bleached out over time until this was simply a comforting space, something constant and his. And seeing Castiel so easy and intimate here felt like home. This is where Cas should always be, here in this room glowing in this light with someone that wanted to care for him, give him pleasure, make him stay. Dean crawls over Cas, presses his own body down as fully as he can, runs hands over skin to come up and hold his face as he kisses him deep and unhurried, buzzing with a slow burn kind of need that doesn’t require the red slash of animal claim, just the meticulous law that every inch will be covered in due time, every satisfaction given and received with a clear mind and honest purpose.

Where before Castiel had been all domination and demand now he is pliant and open, letting Dean take his time, accepting the careful reverence of the man he loves with short breathy gasps and throaty little groans that go straight to Dean’s bloodstream. As his mouth devours the lushness of Cas’ pale skin and lean muscles, Dean can’t stop sucking deeper, licking hard enough to root out the feel of bone. And when he looks up, it’s a shock to see the marks he’s left, meets Cas’ gaze for an answer. Castiel wants the proof as well, the bright blossoms lasting on his skin as it would on Dean’s, unwilling to heal away the claims with his grace. Dean groans at the sight, dark hair mussed from his fingers, eyes fever bright, lips kissed ruddy and wet and fresh suckled blotches marking a trail south. How can he look so urgently fragile in Deans arms? Older, stronger, Heaven born and now trembling under his touch like Dean has the power to unravel, like Dean might be good enough to deserve this.

He’d wanted to go slower, string this out, but Cas has the damndest effect on him and he never thought he’d have trouble not coming just from looking at someone. They’d just have to make time for more later. There’s lube in the nightstand drawer and Dean makes quick work of pouring it onto his fingers and circling a slick trail around Cas’ hole. The first finger slides in with a barely heard gasp and it doesn’t take long after the slow drag in and out for Cas to nod at him that he’s ready for another. The second finger comes with a small cry and a gentle rock back into Dean’s fingers. God he wants to stay here all day, see what new kinds of sounds he can wring out of Cas with his fingers. He opens him up, works a third in, stretches his angel carefully wider until he’s panting and clenching so beautifully that Dean can’t take another minute of not being seated inside. He slicks up his cock, grips himself tight and slips in the head while cradling Castiel’s neck in his other hand. He meant to stop, move in shallow thrusts to give Cas time to adjust, but sweet Jesus that tight heat is squeezing out his very breath, sucking him deeper until he has the angel fully impaled and arching against him.

“Oh _Dean_!” Castiel clutches at him, bowing in ecstasy and pulsing the muscles of his channel around Dean’s painfully hard erection.

“ _Shit_!” He has to grab his nuts to keep from coming, fuck it’s too good, a silken villainous pleasure that works against his plans and higher reasoning. They’re both shaking, each braced against the other while wracked with the vibrations of a brutish orgasm that has no concern for their desired pace. Dean tries to move slow, easy, but Castiel sobs broken and loud with the force of his pleasure and Dean has to freeze again to stop his own release that is churning hot, held back by only a hair. They kiss, simple chaste kisses to drain the sensation of some of its demand. And when it cools enough for them both, Dean props up from Castiel’s lips and stares at him, like they have so many times before, when they would let a moment hold them, bind them before either had even known what was happening. He breaths in Cas’ air, rubbing circles at his temples and anchoring him with a hand at his hip. Now he can rock in, a deliberate push with a snap to get him that much deeper before pulling out as far as he dare to thrust in again. Neither man looks away, waivers, even as the pressure builds and the cries become desperate and rough edged. Dean wants to watch his face as he comes, begins to move faster with the need of it. And Castiel responds so beautifully, laid bare by what Dean is giving him that something stands in the center of his chest and announces that this here will be a vow. Dean will watch Castiel come beneath him and that will make the angel his forever, bound physically from that moment where they had always been spiritually. And they had been, tied in some way that was eternal and inevitable and Dean had done everything in his power to blind himself to it, and why? What was there ever to fear? Changing, putting something of himself in the hands of someone else other than Sam? Trust was always scarce, but Cas already had that. The possibilities of loss, pain, death? Already there, bullet in the chamber to drill right to his core if anything were to ever happen to Castiel. And shit at least Cas could defend himself, better than Dean. Sex? Castiel had taken a sledgehammer to that façade and it was humiliating to discover that the things he’d always wanted, always fantasized about had always been right there.

“Mine, always Cas.” His thrusts get harder, more insistent. He wanted Cas to come and come now. Castiel is shaking and so close, so gorgeously undone and gasping, nodding. But that won’t do, Dean punches his hips in fierce. “ _Mine_.”

“YES! Dean, yes yours! uuhhhAAAHHH!” A terrible, perfect sound ripped from his throat, rippling down his limbs as he clutches and thrashes, nearly knocking Dean off as he spills hot between them. There’s another sound, soft rustling and thumps and when Dean looks up there are Cas’ wings. Splayed out, spilling over the bed and beating into the floor, bucking them both wildly. Dean wraps himself tight, thrusting shallow and holding on for all he’s worth. Then it’s on him, orgasm hitting him like a car crash, vision shorted out. He empties everything into Cas, it feels like dying. Coming more than his body should be able to, last electric twitch of muscles, last frayed gasp of a voice gone hoarse, last heartbeat of something that had been alone.

It’s a long time before either can move. Looking up in awe at each other, like two bedraggled souls emerging from a storm they had no shot at surviving. Cas blinks them clean, then arranges himself in Dean’s arms so they can more comfortably lie in the tiny single bed, staring off into their own fathomless thoughts. After a while, Cas’ breathing gets heavy and even, and when Dean leans up to check, Castiel is fast asleep. It shouldn’t stab at him so hard to see his angel like this, peaceful and vulnerable like he’s never known him to be. Dean holds him tighter, taking a deep breath to steady himself, get a feel for this new _thing_ that was the two of them. Before he falls asleep, his gaze drifts over the room, and there, on the nightstand is a small glass vase with a bundle of perfect white feathers arranged in a spray. Beside it a card with neat black script he can just make out.

_Raphael says Hi._

Dean puffs a quiet laugh and looks up at the ceiling, whispering her name. And he knows she can hear it when he silently mouths the words.

_Thank you._

_Amen._


End file.
